Everything
by A Serious Authoress
Summary: Everything Vegeta possesses is in danger. Everything Bulma believes is called into question. Through it all, will they realize all they need is each other? Will even that be enough to save them from an evil so nefarious it could annihilate them all?
1. A Hard Day's Night

This chapter has been replaced with a revised version. If you have already read this chapter, you need not do so again. The revisions were small corrections in grammar, and the rewording of places I found awkward. I'm always looking to improve my writing. It is an ongoing process, and I'm sure there will be more revisions in the future. Until then, I hope you enjoy reading this either for the first time or as you read it again (in which case, I am flattered that you want to read this work of mine more than once).

I must thank VeryShortMidget for her wonderful Beta services and encouragement. Thanks for giving me your time and effort! : )

Also, I borrowed my chapter title from The Beatles. I decided I would name my chapters after a song I thought accurately captured the feeling or theme of the chapter. Cheesy? Yes. But also fun.

-ASA : )

* * *

"A Hard Day's Night"

"You don't know how it happened?! What the hell is that supposed to mean, Yamcha? Is it supposed to make me feel better knowing that you don't know how to keep your pants on whenever some bar-trash floosy bats an eye your way?" Bulma yelled furiously.

Yamcha, looking apprehensively at the irate woman, held up his hands in a supplicating manner. "Hey, babe...Bulma...it's not like that, I swear…." He didn't get to finish as Bulma growled in frustration.

"Oh yes it is, you pathetic shit," she said, voice dripping with disgust. "I should have known a sniveling worm like you would be a backstabbing ass as well!"

As angry as she was, though, she sadly didn't believe her own words. Bulma had never expected Yamcha to cheat on her. Quite the contrary—she thought they would settle down, get married, maybe even have a child or two one day in the future. But not anymore. No, the bastard had gone and shattered that dream. Bulma felt a fresh wave of ire as she replayed the last few instances before WWIII erupted between them.

* * *

They hadn't been on a date in almost three weeks. Sure, he'd swung by the compound a few times during the week, but Bulma had been extremely busy working with her father on a new, exciting space pod design. She would emerge from her lab reluctantly--eyes distant, hair disheveled, and bespeckled with grease. But whenever she saw Yamcha and his blindingly warm smile, Bulma would feel her stomach give a school girl-like lurch and jump into his arms for a warm embrace.

As their pod design quickly progressed into a more problematic stage, though, Bulma saw less and less of Yamcha. Nevermind the fact that the surly Sayian prince believed Bulma to be at his every whim, demanding she make upgrades to his precious gravity chamber, then promptly blowing the damn thing up when he trained too hard.

Finally, though, Bulma and her father got all the kinks worked out of their spacecraft. It was out of their hands now and into the marketing department. They would advertise and sell the piece of brilliance, giving Bulma a nice reprieve. Realizing how long it had been since she and Yamcha had had time alone together, Bulma called him last night to make arrangements.

It took him longer than usual to answer, and when he did, he sounded distracted and distant. Bulma ignored the uneasy feeling she received from this phone call, dismissing it as mere paranoia. They decided on dinner at their favourite restaurant at 8:00. Bulma took extra care as she readied herself for their date. She wanted Yamcha to know it was a special night for them both.

Dressed in her new Oscar de la Renta dark emerald green gown and sexy black stilettos, she waited for Yamcha to arrive…and she waited. Finally, almost 45 minutes later, Bulma opened the front door revealing a frumpled-looking Yamcha, who was lamely trying to tame his hair while also fumbling for an apology.

When they got to dinner, though, things were much better. They ate in comfortable conversation, danced a few songs, and had some champagne. Arriving back at Capsule Corp. almost around midnight, Yamcha parked his car, getting out to open Bulma's door. At that moment, Yamcha's cell decided to start ringing. Bulma reached down to grab the thing and answered.

"YAMCHA!" A sickly sweet, slightly intoxicated voice blared into Bulma's ear. "Hey, baby…I'm lonely! How about you come over to my place again?" the offending voice pouted. Bulma, eyes wide in shock, stared at the phone in disbelief. "Yamcha?" A pause, "Hee-eloo-o?" it cooed. "Aww, well…call me later, my Yami-poo! Same number as always!"

Bulma's door poised halfway open as Yamcha nervously eyed Bulma, who was still staring at the now silent phone in her hand. Not wanting to believe what she had just heard, Bulma's eyes narrowed to glittering blue slits. Slowly setting the phone back in its place and stepping out of the car, she turned to Yamcha.

"What the _hell_ was that? Explain. Now!"

Thus ensued their argument—Bulma beyond furious, interrogating Yamcha, who was desperately trying to get the situation under control—from which Bulma learned that Bimbo had a name (Chelsea), and that she was also the reason Yamcha was late (as was she the cause of last night's distraction). Yamcha swore it was a fling—a one time mistake. A fact made completely evident from their said _two_ encounters.

* * *

Bulma took a deep breath, trying to gain some semblance of composure. She ran a shaky hand through her mussed hair—"Why, Yamcha?" she asked softly. "I don't understand why you would do this to me…to us." Her voice nearly broke with her last utterance, but she would be damned if she let him see her cry.

At Yamcha's continued silence, she grew impatient. "Well? Don't I deserve an answer, damn it?" she said more harshly. Yamcha refused to meet her fiery gaze, instead choosing this moment to intimately study the stitching of his dress shoes.

"I don't know, Bulma," he finally began. "I mean, I guess she was just there when you were not. You know, you're always working on a 'new, exciting project' and Chelsea seemed more than willing to make time for me," he finished lamely.

Bulma had to fight the supreme urge to rip this man's eyes out and feed them to him. "It's called a JOB, imbecile! But, I'm quite sure you know _all_ about those," she said sarcastically. Clenching her fists tightly by her side, she grimaced. "Besides, that is _no_ excuse. Damn it, Yamcha! We've been together forever it seems, and you don't have the decency to even talk to me about that?!"

Taking a step back towards the door, she gave a short sigh of exasperation. "You know what, Yamcha?" she said with a shake of her head, "this is over. _We_ are over. I deserve better! I will not tolerate such treatment. You have your floosy. See how long she puts up with your shit. I quit myself of it." With that, she turned and determinedly began walking to the door.

Yamcha, realizing he was losing her, quickly spoke up. "Aw, babe, come on," he cried, reaching out to lay a hand on her retreating shoulder. "Bulma, we can work this out. I never meant for this to happen!" He hurriedly stepped in front of her, blocking her path, and placed both hands on her shoulders. Mustering up his most sorrowful, penitent face, he murmured. "I love you, Bulma."

Bulma, infuriated at his touch and even more so by his wretched simperings, said quietly, dangerously, "First, I am no longer your 'babe.' Second, I doubt you even can comprehend the meaning of love. Third: Get. Off. Me. Now." Eyes narrowing dangerously, she glared at his offending paws.

Yamcha, however, was not dissuaded so easily. "I'm sorry, Bulma! You have to believe me! I _do_ love you!" he declared, still idiotically believing he could somehow "fix this."

She slapped his hands away. "I have to believe no such thing! Yamcha, you screwed up. That's final. Now, get out of my way," she said, trying to push past his figure.

Yamcha reached out for her hand. "Bulma, please…" he said.

"Just _let me go_, damn it!" she yelled, pulling her hand forcefully from his. "Just GO! And leave me the hell alone!" she said, the much denied tears now beginning to prick her eyes at this continued torture. With that, she turned and fled to the door, slamming it shut ferociously in the face of her former lover.

Once inside the unassuming confines of her own home, she leaned against the door for support, feeling she could not trust her legs to carry her anywhere at the moment. Letting her head fall back onto the hardness of the oak door, she allowed her tears of frustration, anger, and sadness to course their way down her flushed cheeks.

* * *

Meanwhile, pleasantly oblivious to the drama unfolding outside the entrance to the compound, an infuriated Vegeta stepped—or rather, stumbled (though he'd never own to it)—out of the gravity chamber. The damned thing had once again short-circuited. Nevermind, of course, that he had been training at well over 500x Earth's gravity. The prince, coated in a layer of sweat and blood, growled in frustration and gave the contraption a kick—which made the whole device violently slide 10 feet back.

"How the hell am I supposed to train properly when that damn machine breaks down every two days!" he sulked petulantly. "That woman had better fix it right this time! I grow weary of this lunacy."

He marched toward the back door, intent upon giving said woman an earful whether she was awake or not (and rather hoping she would be asleep, for he'd love the reaction he would evoke for waking her at this time of night). Snapping him out of his reverie was the violent slamming of the front door and the muttered cursing of that insipid weakling, Yamcha.

He snorted in condescension, "What is that loser doing here?" he said to himself. Throwing open the door, he strode inside to find the woman, stopping in the kitchen first, however, to get a snack and water.

* * *

Hearing the back door open and rustling about in the kitchen, Bulma hastily wiped her face of its tears and attempted to appear presentable. She would never allow that insufferable Vegeta to see her this way. Reaching down to unfasten her stilettos, she tried to quietly manoeuvre through the living room to the stairs that would lead her to the safety of her own quarters.

Fate, it seemed, was not through with her yet this night, for Vegeta appeared in the doorway just as she was making her way though the living room.

"Good God, woman. You look absolutely wretched," he rasped, leaning against the doorjamb, that smirk playing upon his features. However, to his own dismay, he did not believe his words. She was positively stunning in her form fitting gown with her vivid blue hair tumbling down her back in soft curls, her face flushed from what even he could tell were fresh tears. He forced aside these rather traitorous thoughts, reminding himself she was just the same loud-mouthed woman as always.

"Rough night, eh?" He continued when all his last comment evoked was a well-practised death glare.

Bulma, not sure she could make it through an argument with Vegeta and wanting nothing more than to fall into her comfy bed, fixed Vegeta with a baleful gaze. "Not tonight, Vegeta. I'm in no mood to deal with yet another pathetic male's shit!" she said bitterly.

Vegeta recalled the slammed door and Yamcha's mutterings. So that's what this was about. "You would do well, woman," he sneered, his face darkening into a fearsome scowl as he began to walk across the living room towards Bulma, "to remember that you are speaking to the Prince of all Sayians! I am neither 'pathetic' nor do I deal in shit!"

Refusing to be intimidated, though she knew he could easily snap her in two, Bulma bit back. "Well, good for you, Mr. Sayian Prince. I'm _so_ glad you got that off your chest!" she said sarcastically. Bulma continued, delighted to actually hear him snort in indignation. "Oh, and you might want to take a look at yourself in a mirror before you decide to call _me_ wretched!" Bulma eyed Vegeta with upraised eyebrows as he spluttered and probably debated over whether he should "blast her into the next dimension" or not, something he naturally diverted to when an argument was not going in his favour.

As tired and emotionally drained as she was, it felt good to take out her frustrations in one of their many battles. "Don't you have somewhere else to be? Like the gravity chamber?" she said, looking up at Vegeta, who was still seething. At the guttural noise that emitted from the enraged Sayian, Bulma narrowed her eyes in understanding. "Oh. So you've broken it again, have you? Of course I suppose you'll want _me_ to fix it, right?"

Vegeta could tolerate her insolence no longer—his pride would not allow it. He took a step closer to Bulma, face set in his most terrifying scowl. "I did not break the fucking machine, woman! If _you_ had fixed it correctly the last time, I _would_ be training right now!" he said, voice rising with every word.

He looked down at the woman, who seemed for the first time during their encounter to be slightly afraid. "No wonder that pathetic weakling left. You are the most worthless human being on this planet of worthless human beings. It has to be the smartest move he's ever made," he mocked. Vegeta, of course, had no idea what effect this statement would have. He only knew that Yamcha left angry and nothing of his infidelity or that their relationship was finished.

Bulma felt as if Vegeta might as well have punched her. How did he even know she and Yamcha were not together anymore? To have the subject thrown so cruelly back in her face this soon, was too much. She felt the tears well in her eyes before she could do anything to hinder their progress. Dying inside of mortification, Bulma tried to tap into her anger for a biting retort and failed. All she could find was sorrow. To her slight satisfaction, however, she could see through her watery eyes that Vegeta himself did not expect this sort of reaction from her and looked more than mildly uncomfortable. Bulma closed her eyes and felt the delinquent tears slide down her cheeks. She furiously swiped at them with the back of her hand.

"Thank you, _Prince_ Vegeta," she managed to say in a voice that surprised herself with its steadiness, "for illustrating so eloquently how inexcusably ill-informed you are. Though, I hardly expect more from a brute who sides with perhaps the most spineless, contemptible, most unfaithful bastard in the history of such _men_!"

So incensed was she that she took her own step closer to the Sayian, setting them nose to nose, glaring at him—daring him to say something more. She felt a small victory when Vegeta did no more than draw his brows tightly over his dark eyes and cross his arms over his chest. Bulma turned stiffly and continued on her way up the stairs, quickening her pace until she reached her room and slammed the door shut.

* * *

Standing under the scalding spray of the shower, the woman's face kept appearing before Vegeta's eyes—her shocked tear-filled gaze, mouth set in a saddened "o," the woman's ethereal hair framing her face like a goddess of Vegeta. Then, like lightning, she pulled her composure about her, insulting and getting in his face without even a glimmer of apprehension. That the woman possessed such control, especially when she frequently exercised none, impressed Vegeta, though he would be loath to admit such a thing.

"So that loser cheated on the woman," Vegeta said with a snort. "He's even more daft than I credited him." Stepping out of the shower, he quickly dried himself with a flare of his ki, sending small tendrils of steam dissipating into the air. He eyed the cold bed as he tread noiselessly into his bedchamber. Deciding against the thing, he turned in favor of the French doors that led to his balcony.

Vegeta always managed to find at least a modicum of solace from the endless night sky. Perched rather comfortably upon the balcony rail, he fancied he could see the brilliant red gleam of a star that should have its rightful place in this majestical roof and, yet, did not. Yes, tonight would be yet another in a string of sleepless nights spent on the balcony by the handsome Sayian, prince of a destroyed planet and a decimated race.

With his head resting lightly against the wall, Vegeta was just dozing off when his acute hearing carried to him the careful closing of the front door and soft footfalls on the pavement below. Obsidian eyes flashed down to the ground below him and saw the figure of the woman walking slowly down the sidewalk and away from the compound.

"What the blazes could the woman be doing?" Vegeta mumbled grumpily to himself. Interested, however, he decided to sate his curiosity and follow her. Besides, if something ill befell the "crazy wench"—as all manner of ill things do tend to befall unprotected women at night—then who the hell would fix his gravity chamber? Taking flight soundlessly, Vegeta, high above in the chilly night air, began to follow the woman.

* * *

As soon as Bulma slammed the door shut to her room, she began ripping off her dress, finding it was absolutely suffocating her in her present state. Moments later, the gown lie in an undignified heap on the floor whilst Bulma stood clad in nothing save her undergarments, breathing heavily, but determined nonetheless not to cry once more. Throwing down her copious amounts of unneeded pillows and sliding underneath her satin-lined comforter, Bulma waited for sleep to overtake her and rid her of this most horrid day.

Alas, though she wait patiently, all Bulma accomplished was a good deal of tossing and turning. Though her body was dreadfully, painfully tired, her brain refused her a respite. The wicked thing was intent upon playing the last scenes of the evening repeatedly on the screen of her inner mind.

Finally throwing off her covers in disgust, Bulma, not caring over the severely late hour, resolved that a walk would do to clear her mind. Pulling on jeans, an old college sweatshirt, and her favourite flip-flops, she made her way quietly through the darkened home and into the softly moonlit night.

* * *

Bulma walked aimlessly through the city: down one street, turn right, amble through a park, turn left, etc. Her steady footfalls put her into an almost trance-like state. It is no surprise, then, that she barely noticed the tears that clouded her vision from time to time, nor that she was completely ignorant of walking into a fairly rough neighborhood. Perhaps her most dangerous oversight was failing to hear that she was no longer alone.

Two rather coarse fellows dressed in baggy, dark clothing and armed with sinister looks and intentions drew out of a shadowed alleyway. Pulled like magnets toward the lone figure of the beautiful, oblivious, blue-haired woman, they began to slink down the sidewalk behind her.

Unexplainably, Bulma felt the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck come to attention. Focussing her eyes for the first time in at least half an hour on where exactly she was, she felt her stomach sink as she took in her surroundings. Inwardly cursing herself for her absurd lack of attention, Bulma felt thankful that she was not lost. At least, she didn't _think_ she was lost.

To her dismay, though, she grew aware of a terrible feeling gripping her, as if a steel vice had been clamped around her poor stomach. Something was not as it should be. Stopping, Bulma forced herself to remain calm. The 'feeling,' she rationalized, was more than likely brought about by lack of sleep and that she was out alone at night. Panic would accomplish nothing for her.

"Fantastic," she muttered for the sake of hearing _something_ in the eerily quiet night. She turned around to begin making her way back home, but abruptly came to a halt. The two ruffians were right in front of Bulma, leering salaciously at her.

"Oh!" Bulma started, now realizing what her terrible feeling had been prognosticating. Half believing the situation was too fantastical, too cliché to occur, Bulma took an involuntary step backwards with a shake of her head.

"Where d'you think you're going, Missy?" the taller of the two said with a deranged grin. The other man chuckled lowly behind him.

Knowing this was going downhill faster than a fat kid can eat cake, Bulma instinctively turned to run. A grimy, powerful hand on her shoulder stopped her progress, however. The shorter fellow spun her around so that her back was pressed against his front. Struggling with the too strong arms, Bulma felt a wave of sheer horror encompass her being. She could not have screamed if her life depended on it, which, now, might very well be the case.

The taller man approached the terrified beauty, "Now, Missy. You've gone and hurt our feelings," he said in mock sorrow. "Why'd you have to go and run away from us?" He leaned in closer to Bulma's face. He was so close, she could see the flecks of yellow that dotted the whites of his eyes and smell his rancid breath. Grinning, he revealed a row of perfectly blackened teeth. "We only want a bittuv fun!" he laughed. Bulma felt the man behind her chuckle his hot breath into her ear as he sniffed her hair.

Bulma twisted her head away in disgust. Angered, the man held her more tightly, smiling evilly when he heard her give a short whimper. She managed to find her voice. "I-I don't have any money, I swear! Just let me go, please!"

Sliding his grubby hands up her sweatshirt and pressing himself against her, the taller man whispered. "It ain't your money we want, Missy…."

That was it. She would not play the poor, defenseless woman any longer. She would not let these men do this to her. Squirming beneath his touch, she yelled. "NO! GET OFF OF M—" the man holding her crushed his palm across Bulma's mouth, preventing her from making any more noise. It did not, however, prevent her from kicking the man in the groin as he continued to grope at her form.

* * *

Vegeta was floating on his back, watching the stars, using the time for meditation, which is why he did not register the raise in the woman's ki. He did hear, though, her high-pitched, franticly protesting voice. Instantly alert, he flipped over just in time to witness Bulma kick a man who was assaulting her in the groin.

"Fuck!" He cursed when he saw the second man grappling violently with the struggling woman. Taking a nosedive, Vegeta sped to Bulma's aide. "How did I know this would happen? Foolish woman!" he growled in anger, though there was more concern in his voice than he would care to admit.

Alighting behind the man who held Bulma captive, he forcefully swung the brute around, and before he could make any comment, punched him square in the gut. He promptly fell backwards onto Bulma.

The taller man was trying to get up, still clutching his aching person, sputtering angrily. "Stupid bitch! I'll make you pay for that, you blasted whore!" When he finally glanced up, though, he was met with Vegeta's livid face instead of Bulma's.

"Pathetic weakling," he sneered, reaching down and snapping the bastard's neck. Throwing the man's body effortlessly into the alleyway from whence he came, Vegeta turned his attention to the woman.

Bulma felt the man's grip on her cease to exist, but before she could comprehend what was happening or make her escape, his full weight fell upon her back, pinning her to the ground. While she struggled with the lug's unresponsive body, she heard the other man's angry grumblings and began to panic. What was going on? What would happen to her? She did not pursue that avenue of thought, though it was quite clear what the men's intentions were.

Suddenly, the great weight of the man's body lifted off her. Fearing it was the taller man coming for her, Bulma struck out blindly in fear. When two powerful hands encompassed her own, rendering them immobile, she panicked even more. "_NO_! Damn it, let me go! Let me _go_!" she sobbed hysterically.

Vegeta cursed. He should have known she would be hysterical. Although, he did not expect her to be so forceful in her protestations. Bringing Bulma's flailing, he said sharply, "Woman! Stop this at once. You are safe. They are gone now."

Vegeta's harsh voice penetrated Bulma's frenzy. Realizing she knew who held her, and that she was indeed safe, Bulma ceased her struggles. Looking up through tear-filled eyes, she saw Vegeta's scowling visage, and thought it had never looked so good as it did this moment.

Vegeta let her go when he knew she would not resist him. Taking in her mussed hair, tear-streaked face, and growing look of shock, Vegeta felt a surge of new anger at the imbeciles for their unforgivable actions. He wished he could give them a proper beating. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

Stunned at seeing Vegeta, of all people, here with her, Bulma dazedly shook her head. "No…I-I'm fine…I think," she stuttered out.

"Foolish woman! What were you thinking?" Vegeta remonstrated, meeting her numb gaze and feeling his own countenance soften the tiniest bit.

"I know it was stupid. It was stupid of me to go out, but I c-couldn't sleep and…. I-I just want to go home," Bulma finished in a small voice. "Please, take me home, V-Vegeta..."

Vegeta knew the woman was not 'fine,' as she claimed to be. She was shivering violently and going into shock. He grunted in acquiescence and stepped forward to scoop her up. With the woman securely in his arms, he lifted into the air and slowly set off for Capsule Corp.

Bulma realized she was shivering when she felt the warmth of Vegeta's body slowly seeping into her own. She finally felt safe wrapped in his powerful arms as they made their way through the night sky. Bulma's mind, now that it had the chance, cruelly reminded her of the complete lucklessness of her predicament. It bore down upon her until she could no longer ignore all she had just been through. The poor woman could not stop the barrage of tears for all the world. She tucked her head more securely into Vegeta's warm, solid chest and waited for the sobs to subside.

Feeling the woman convulse, he looked down to see her silent tears. Not knowing what to do with a crying woman, Vegeta just let her cry, her warm tears trickling down his chest. Unconsciously, he tightened his hold on the woman.

He wondered how he would explain how he knew she was in danger. Admit to following her? Certainly not. But what did he care? He was the Prince of all Sayians! He could do whatever he damn well pleased without having to offer an explanation to anyone!

* * *

By the time the pair reached Bulma's window, she was asleep. Vegeta quietly opened the window and floated into her chamber. Softly padding over to her bed, he leaned down and began gently disentangling her soft arms from around his neck. Pulling the comforter over her, he prepared to leave. At the window, he heard her quiet whisper.

"Vegeta, wait…"

He turned and saw the glowing cobalt of the woman's eyes staring at him from where she propped herself up in her bed. She nervously dropped her gaze and began picking at a thread on her comforter. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I meant none of it, really. I was just…angry already."

Vegeta grunted, which Bulma deciphered as an acceptance of her apology. She looked up at him again. "And I wanted to thank you for…saving me," she whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek.

"The action needs no thanks," Vegeta said quietly. "It was a matter of honour." Vegeta gathered his brows in consternation. It was disgraceful how the woman's tears affected him so. "You should sleep," he said gruffly.

He opened the window, yet was again stopped by the woman's almost lyrical voice. "Wait," she said timidly. "Will you stay, please? I…I don't want to be alone." Bulma said the last so softly that if Vegeta were not Vegeta, he would not have heard.

To his surprise, Vegeta found himself closing the window and walking over to an armchair in the corner next to the woman's bed. "This damn planet is making me soft," he complained lowly.

Bulma must have heard, for she said with the barest hint of a smile, "Thank you." Snuggling deeper under her covers, Bulma closed her eyes and finally was able to sleep.

Vegeta sat in the shadows of the armchair watching the slow rise and fall of the woman's breathing for a long while. Resting his head wearily against the back of the chair, Vegeta sought sleep himself. No easy feat when all around him was the intoxicating scent of that woman. He himself reeked of her.

* * *

If you read and enjoyed...or did not enjoy, though I hope that is not the case, then please review. Thanks a bunch!

-ASA : )


	2. All At Once

I want to thank Lhia for being the _only_ person to comment, and a lovely comment it was too. So, a ginormously huge and big shout out to Lhia! : )

"All At Once" by Jack Johnson was the inspiration for this chapter. You will find the lyrics below the story.

Anywho, enjoy!

* * *

"All At Once"

As soon as the sun's first rays trailed their fingers upon the angular contours of Vegeta's face, his eyes blinked open. Glancing over at Bulma, he smirked when he saw her face covered with a mass of wavy blue hair and an arm dangling over the side of her bed.

Walking to the window, Vegeta stepped out into the dawn air. With a frown, he remembered he would not be able to train in the gravity chamber. He changed his course, then, to the kitchen. His stomach gave a joyful growl of approval. Maybe the woman's father could fix the machine.

Entering the kitchen, Vegeta found (to his immense relief) the inane blonde woman was nowhere to be seen, but that breakfast was waiting on the stove. Bulma's father sat at the table, sipping his cup of steaming coffee and reading the paper.

"Hello there, Vegeta," he said amiably upon noticing his entrance. "Hungry? Oh…ha ha." He chuckled in amusement. "Of course you are, m'boy! Help yourself."

Vegeta did just that. Armed with a plate stacked high with fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon, and a mountain of toast in one hand and another covered with fruits of all kinds in the other, Vegeta sat opposite Dr. Briefs. Once he had neatly inhaled his food, he cleared his throat and addressed the old man.

"Are you capable of repairing the gravity chamber?" he asked roughly.

Dr. Briefs peered over his paper at the impatient Vegeta. "Well…I suppose I could," he replied slowly. "I thought Bulma usually took care of that sort of thing, though."

"The woman is still in bed, but I need to train now," said Vegeta, hoping the old man would not pester him with anymore of his idiotic questions. Of course, he did.

"Oh really? Still in bed you say?" he said with a befuddled look. "How odd. She is usually up before I am. Is she alright?" he asked, concerned, the thought just occurring to the absent-minded man that something could be amiss with his only child.

"Well how the hell should I know?!" Vegeta said angrily. "I do not meddle in the woman's affairs!" To be sure, Vegeta knew what was keeping the woman in bed. But he certainly would not be the one to tell the man what happened last night or why his daughter remained in bed. The woman could enlighten her parents or not. As of now, it was none of his concern.

"Alright, alright. No need for shouting, now, Vegeta," Dr. Briefs said easily. Vegeta felt a vein begin to throb in his forehead.

"Well, are you going to fix the damn machine or sit around here all day?!" Vegeta exclaimed exasperatedly. How these humans tried his patience! Did they delight in finding ways to annoy him? The woman was the only one he could barely tolerate…barely.

Strangely, Dr. Briefs never seemed affected by Vegeta's outbursts. He deliberately took a last swig of his coffee and folded his newspaper neatly before standing up. "Okie dokie, then," he said with a clap of his hands. "I'll just grab some tools, and we'll take a look-see." With that, he shuffled out of the kitchen, humming his favourite Beatles tune. It was going to be a long day for Vegeta.

* * *

Bulma awoke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. Reminding herself she was safe in her own bed, she forced her body to obey her and relax. Groaning as the brilliant sun slanted into her eyes, Bulma wondered briefly what time it was. Swinging her legs out of their cocoon of warmth, she read 3:00 as she passed the clock on her way to the bathroom.

She shivered when she caught her reflection in the mirror—eyes red and puffy, hair an ungodly mess, and still in her scuffed clothing from last night.

Last night... No! No, she would not think about it. Bulma knew all about denial, repression, and _psychology_ in general. She knew what she was doing was unhealthy. But, damn it, she just wanted to take her shower in relative peace. She would deal with the trauma later. Besides, it was a terribly near thing, but no permanent damage was done. She had Vegeta to thank for that. Mind set determinedly now on the more pleasant and intriguing subject of the Sayian prince, Bulma turned on the shower.

Shedding her soiled clothing, she threw them in the waste bin. She doubted she would ever have the urge to wear them again. Seeing steam begin to journey its way up from the shower, Bulma slid back the door and stepped under the blissfully hot stream.

After a leisurely shower and freshening up, Bulma felt herself in higher spirits. Emerging from the steamy bathroom, she opened her closet to find something to wear and settled on dark green cargo pants and a plain white t-shirt. Enjoying the cool sensation of her damp hair on her neck, Bulma decided to leave her hair down to air dry rather than tying it back like usual.

Walking thoughtfully over to the now desolate armchair, Bulma ran a delicate hand across the top. She smiled, remembering what Vegeta had said the night before. "Hm. I doubt it possible for anything to make you 'soft,' Vegeta," she said to herself. But, then, he _had_ stayed with her—very unVegeta-like behaviour. Sighing, Bulma found she could smell him—a mix of warm spices, sweat, and just…manliness—emanating from the chair.

Bulma blushed. How ridiculous she must look, sniffing an armchair! And yet, Bulma found that thinking of Vegeta was one of the only things keeping her sane at the moment.

Suddenly, her stomach gave a tremendous, plaintively hungry protest. "Well, goodness!" she said, laughing and placing a hand placatingly on her stomach. "Food it is!"

* * *

Descending the stairs, Bulma was surprised to hear the distant, familiar rumblings of the gravity chamber. "Huh. That's odd," she said with a raise of her eyebrows.

Entering the kitchen, Bulma's mother glanced up from her furious sandwich making. "Oh, Bulma! There you are! We thought you'd sleep the whole day away," she began prattling. Bulma groaned inwardly. She was not in the mood for a long chat with her mother.

"Your father was worried about you, dear, but I told him, I said, 'Darling, she's a grown woman. She can sleep all day if she chooses. Besides, she was out late last night with Yamcha.' Well, you know your father. He just frowned and went on with fixing that gizmo out there with Vegeta. I thought I'd make those boys a snack since they've been working so hard all afternoon. You know how they love my sandwiches!" she said, giggling.

"So, Bulma, dear, aren't you going to tell me about your date? Did Yamcha just _love_ that gown we picked out? Goodness, what does a woman have to do for details? Oh—honey, are you alright? You look a little pale," Mrs. Briefs said with a frown.

At her innocent mentioning of Yamcha, Bulma felt her face fall and had to fight a wave of anger. "Yeah, Mom. I'm fine," she answered dully. "I am famished, though. Can you spare a sandwich?"

"Well, of course, Bulma. Here," she said, pushing the plate piled high with scrumptious looking sandwiches in Bulma's direction. "Help yourself." Bulma grabbed two eagerly and began eating.

Turning back around from her sandwich making, Mrs. Briefs gasped. "Oh yes! Goodness me, I almost forgot! Yamcha phoned here not but an hour ago. He sounded a bit upset and asked if I wouldn't _please_ tell you to call as soon as you were available. I hope everything is alright between you two."

Looking up from her sandwich, Bulma glared angrily at the phone on the wall, as if it were the offending piece of technology's doings that the prick had chosen to use its services. "Ugh! The _nerve_ of that bastard! He can call all he wants. It won't change a damn thing," she said bitterly, taking a ferocious bite out of her innocent sandwich.

"Oh dear, did you two have a fight?" she asked. "Well, I still think you should give the poor boy a call. I mean, it couldn't have been that bad, right?" she said obliviously.

Bulma fixed her mother with a level gaze. "Mom, that 'poor boy' cheated on me. Needless to say, we are through," she revealed.

"Oh no, honey! That's terrible! And here I thought he was such a _nice_ boy!" she exclaimed, looking perturbed.

Bulma felt comforted by her mother's sincere words. She hated breaking news such as this to her. Mrs. Briefs's trusting naïveté was what made her so endearing to her daughter. Sure, she was a horrendous gossip and a meddler, but her complete faith in the inherent goodness of others more than compensated for those natural, motherly tendencies.

Changing the subject, Bulma exclaimed how delicious her mother's sandwiches were when she finished her own two and sneaked a third from the plate. It was true. Her mother was an exquisite cook, something Bulma, unfortunately, did not inherit.

Give her the most convoluted physics theory, and she could explain in such a way that even a five-year-old could understand and feel like an Einstein. Hand her a simple, follow-the-instructions recipe for spaghetti and meatballs, and, well…disaster ensued.

"No problem, honey," she said with a dismissive wave of her perfectly manicured hand. "Bulma, be a dear and take this out to those boys, won't you?" she asked, holding the tray of sandwiches and two glasses of iced tea.

"Sure, Mom," Bulma said, feigning untroubled felicity. In fact, she was nervous about seeing Vegeta so soon. Her mom handed her the platter with a smile and opened the door leading out into the brilliant afternoon sun.

* * *

Vegeta winced as he heard the blonde woman idiotically "yoo-hooing" to "her handsome boys." Grimacing, he threw another volley of precise, powerful punches at an invisible foe. He had moved his training to the well-manicured lawn of Capsule Corp. while the old man tinkered with the gravity chamber. He actually found himself enjoying the change of scenery. The sun felt splendid on his bare skin.

"Bulma, sweetiepie, are you feeling alright?" Dr. Briefs asked with fatherly concern when he saw his daughter with the platter of food.

"Oh yeah, Dad. I'm fine. Long night, s'all," Bulma replied, giving her dad a warm smile.

"Well, as long as that's all, dear," he said, sensing there was more his daughter was not revealing. He was notorious for being absent-minded, but he did spend an awful lot of time with his daughter and could read her moods fairly well. Or, as well as any man can read the moods of a woman.

Bulma knew her father was extending an invitation for her to speak to him and felt a surge of affection for him for the unspoken offering.

"Everything is fine, Dad. Promise." She tried to assure him. "Well," she said, changing the subject, something it seemed she would be doing a good deal of today. "I see you eyeing these sandwiches, Dad. And no…I did not make them." She laughed at his relieved expression. "Call Vegeta over, ok? Mom wanted her 'boys' to have a snack." Bulma smiled, setting the tray of food and drinks down on her father's table of tools.

"Hey, Vegeta! Come have a snack, I know you must be hungry from all the training you've been doing!" Dr. Briefs called out. Of course, at the mention of food, Vegeta's stomach gave a hopeful growl. Relenting, Vegeta dropped his stance and stalked over to the food. His stomach gave another, this time appreciative, growl.

Bulma was hard-pressed not to stare as Vegeta came scowling over. He wore only a pair of training shorts and tennis shoes. His bare, chiseled chest gleaming under a sheen of sweat from his exertions. Feeling her cheeks colour, Bulma turned to her dad to discuss the gravity chamber specifics.

Vegeta took in the woman's appearance as he approached. With her hair shining fiercely under the sun's attentions and swaying gently in the light breeze, a hint of pink gracing her cheeks, she looked decidedly better than last night. But what did he care? He didn't. He did not care one stinking whit about the idiotic woman's appearance, and that was final.

He had only spent the entire day fighting off her image from his mind's eye, detracting more from his training than the absence of the gravity chamber. Vegeta had just found his concentration when the object of his distraction came out baring food. Pointedly setting aside these thoughts, he downed the tea and began consuming the rest of the sandwiches, grateful the woman's mother had made them and not her. It was preternatural how obscenely awful the woman was at cooking a simple meal.

Vegeta glanced up as Bulma and her father walked back from the gravity chamber, still speaking the language of technical geniuses. "Well, you know, I believe if we install one of those new hydrogen-combustion cells," Bulma was saying, wearing her I'm-concentrating-on-solving-all-the-world's-problems face.

"Oh yes! The one Pondicherry Technologies just unveiled?" Dr. Briefs interjected.

"Yes, that one. If we install that, it should supply a much more efficient power to the chamber, preventing it from short-circuiting like it has been lately."

"Oh, I do agree. I don't know why I didn't think of that. But, isn't Pondicherry Technologies—" Dr. Briefs stopped mid-sentence. "Bulma, what is that?" he asked sharply, making her jump and even Vegeta look up from his sandwich.

The wind had picked up Bulma's hair, tossing it into her face. She naturally raised a hand to hold back the wayward tresses, but revealed a purpling bruise on the underside of her arm in the process.

"What's what, Dad?" she asked, perplexed by his unusually harsh tone. The concerned look on her dad's face as he pointed to her arm giving her a sense of dread, bubbling all her poorly buried jumble of emotions to the surface. Bulma twisted her arm around and caught sight of the ugly bruise, confirmation of her fears.

"Oh. Hm. I dunno, Dad. I guess I…ran into something. You know how clumsy I am," she said, laughing nervously. When her dad shot her a disbelieving glance, she gave him a confused smile. "Geez, Dad. It's no big deal. It's just a little bruise." She shrugged, trying to pull off an unaffected look and not exactly succeeding.

Dr. Briefs picked up one of the remaining sandwiches and said, "Well, try to be more careful, ok, sugarplum?"

"Yeah, Dad," Bulma said briskly, turning around to hide the tears standing in her eyes. Quickly she ran through doubles: one, two, four, eight, sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four, and on until she could no longer keep the numbers straight in her head, around 268435456 she began to waver. It was her magic technique. Her eyes were completely dry.

Vegeta felt uncomfortable watching this pathetic scene. So the woman did not plan on telling her parents. No big surprise there. Though, he did note that the old man was more observant of his daughter than he had previously assumed.

"Well, Vegeta, you're in luck." Dr. Briefs interrupted his musings.

"I doubt that," he said out of the corner of his mouth.

"What was that?" Dr. Briefs asked, looking confused. Bulma tittered beside him.

"Nothing. You were saying?" Vegeta said roughly, a faint hint of a blush appearing on his cheeks, surprised to hear the woman's quiet laughter.

"Oh, yes. The gravity chamber is fully operational now,"

"Good," he said, pleased that he would be able to train properly once more.

"Well, I'm going to head back inside," Bulma announced. "I'll be keeping Mom company if you need me, Dad."

"I think we can manage in the lab without you for today, babe. Just take it easy, alright?" he replied.

Bulma gathered the snack things up and walked towards the kitchen door. Passing Vegeta, she gave him a half smile. He scowled in return. Preoccupied with wondering what Vegeta's face would look like graced with a real smile for once, Bulma promptly tripped over the air. She gave an involuntary squeak as she felt herself tumbling to the ground, platter and all.

Like lightning, a band of steel shot around her stomach, halting her fall while the other easily caught the platter.

"You didn't lie completely, woman," came Vegeta's quiet, raspy voice in her ear. "You _are_ clumsy."

Bulma blushed furiously, very embarrassed. Although, she had no qualms with Vegeta's muscled arm 'round her abdomen or his voice, which sent shivers racing down her spine.

Oh, good grief! He saved her, yes. Now she's what? Madly in love? No, more like madly in lust.

Straightening, Bulma said, "_Thanks_, Vegeta," with a roll of her eyes. He smirked in reply. Taking the tray from his hands, she turned back to the door with a sassy flip of her hair.

"Watch out for those invisible cracks and rocks, woman. I hear they are quite dangerous," Vegeta called out to her retreating form.

Bulma did not even need to turn around. She could practically hear the smirk in his tease. "Big jerk!" she shot back over her shoulder playfully.

Vegeta's smirk widened when he heard this. _That_ was the woman he was used to. With a shake of his head and a frown, he entered the chamber, preparing for an intense training session.

* * *

The next few days passed without incident. Bulma returned to the lab the next day and finally convinced her father that everything was perfectly fine. The bruises on her arms were beginning to fade. She hardly saw Vegeta, who seemed to spend every waking moment in the gravity chamber, making up for lost time, Bulma surmised.

Bulma wondered over the Sayian Prince. When he had first come to the compound, she thought him the most arrogant, selfish bastard. And, well, she supposed he still was, but his actions the past few days begged a reconsideration. He acted more decent towards her, almost like he were concerned about her. But that is absurd, no? Vegeta concerned about _her_? Not a chance. All he cared about was becoming the Legendary and beating the hell out of Goku.

Whether he was or was not concerned for her, Bulma could not deny that she had grown attached to him. Indeed, it seemed her affections grew stronger each day, no matter how hard she fought against them. The Incident made her realize there was so much more to him than she knew or that he would ever reveal.

A chill breeze drafted in though the open window, stirring Bulma's nightgown, making it drift about her legs like ghostly white fingers. She shivered a little as she stood by the window, gazing up at the beautiful night sky, still thinking about the enigma that was Vegeta.

Bulma knew he had spent almost his entire life under Frieza's tyrannical thumb. She had also heard from some of the gang what had transpired between him and Goku before his death. What kind of strength he must possess to bear that torture, Bulma could not conceive. He was the product of his Sayian heritage, an unimaginable childhood, and a monster—not his own creation, like a person should be. That he was sane, even somewhat sociable, spoke volumes for his mental fortitude. Yet, she undoubtedly knew it had forever changed him—how could it not? She wondered, though, if the change was to his core, if it were possible to break down those impenetrable safety walls and see the real man that lie hidden behind them.

It was possible. She knew it. Somehow, she knew it with an unshakable certainty. But it would have to happen another day, she thought with a sad smile. Bulma was too tired tonight. Padding over to her bed, she pulled the covers back and slipped under them. Snuggling deeper into her comforter, she fell asleep peacefully.

* * *

_Large, meaty hands held her immobile, pinning her arms behind her. All around her was a darkness so thick and rancid, it was almost palpable. Panic seized her heart, froze any possible movements. God, not again! she thought. She tried to scream, but her vocal cords betrayed her in their paralysis. She was totally helpless. The hands tightened their grip painfully, gritty fingernails biting into her skin. Bulma felt hot breath in her ear. However, this time, she could not turn her head away in disgust._

_"Mmm, Missy. We missed you," came the terribly familiar voice. The man's hideous face materialized out of the inky blackness. He gave a feral grin. "Care to play along this time?" he questioned._

_After tremendous effort, Bulma choked out, "You're _dead_, damn it You are both dead!!" _

_Immediately, his hands were around her throat, squeezing mercilessly. A strangled gasp escaped her lips as she tried to breathe in. A deranged look plastered on his features, he leered. "We'll see who's dead soon enough, Missy." He leaned in close to Bulma's reddening face. "Then I'll still have my fun." He winked. _

_Oh God, oh God…She could not breathe. Bulma's lungs ached for air—air she could not supply them. She could not even fight back. She was losing._

_Giving a heroic struggle, she gurgled out a defiant "Fuck you!" before her vision began to fade. All around her, she could hear the man's maniacal laughter ringing, echoing off the darkness and into her ears. All around her there was blackness. _

Bulma shot up from her bed, gasping for breath. Something was bunched around her neck, though, keeping her from being free. She began clawing at her comforter, growing more hysterical by the second. "Damn it! Get away! Get off me, get off…" she sobbed, finally disentangling herself and bolting out of the bed.

She backed into the wall and slid down it, hugging her knees to her chest, she cried great heaving sobs. It felt so _real_. Like it was actually happening again, only worse. She was defenseless, and no one was going to come to save her.

When she felt she possessed no more tears to shed, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Sniffing, she eyed her bed. There was no way she would be able to go back to sleep in it tonight. She decided, then, to go out on her balcony. The cool open air would be nice. Her bedchamber still felt suffocatingly claustrophobic.

Sitting on a chair next to the railing with a sigh, she felt more tears slide their way down her cheeks. Putting a hand to her mouth, Bulma's face contorted in grief. Why? It was not a question she had permitted herself to ask these past days, for she knew there would be no satisfying answer. But, damn it, WHY?

Bulma sniffed. She must look a wreck. Or, as Vegeta would say, "absolutely wretched!" At this, she gave a quiet, watery chuckle.

"What _are_ you laughing about, woman?" Vegeta's voice seemed to come out of nowhere.

Bulma gasped in fright, and upon seeing who it was, growled in anger. "Shit! Damn it, Vegeta!" She cursed, her blue eyes snapping angrily at the Sayian who was hovering beside her balcony rail. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she said, running a hand through her hair.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, floating over to a chair opposite Bulma. He motioned to her distressed state with a nod of his head and cut his obsidian eyes through the open door into Bulma's room, which was busy proclaiming her situation like a gossiping friend in its disarray.

Bulma felt ashamed. She felt like a child. Studying her toes, wiggling them intently, she said quietly, "I was having a nightmare…about what happened." Her tears formed anew. "But, it was—it was so much worse. It was so dark, and I couldn't move at all…I was defenseless," she whispered, her voice breaking as a small sob bubbled forth.

Vegeta looked at the woman, a scowl marring his features. She was trying so hard to keep her emotions in check. He felt compunction for her, a certain commiseration. He knew what it was to have your freedom stolen from you, to be forced into situations in which you have no control. He knew what it was like to have your last unsullied sanctuary robbed from you, defiled by the leering phantasms of a life before. It was beyond atrocious; it was unforgivable.

Vegeta explained his presence. "I heard a commotion. I was already outside, so I came to investigate. I did not think, though. I did not mean to frighten you."

Was Vegeta actually apologizing? How strange. Bulma cleared her throat. "It's fine, Vegeta." She turned her gaze to the firmament, a few wayward tears still sneaking past her defenses. They sat in a comfortable silence.

Vegeta, hating each tear he saw slipping down the woman's perfect face, wrangled with a foreign feeling (Albeit, any feeling save anger or pride was rather foreign to Vegeta). He felt the need to comfort her. Knitting his brows together, he gathered his thoughts and spoke.

Bulma, slightly in awe that Vegeta was here with her on her balcony, was even more amazed when he began to speak.

"When I was four-years-old, Nappa was given to me to begin my training. The first day, I made the mistake of crying when Nappa knocked me to the ground. I was beaten within an inch of my life and given no regeneration tank." He said, staring at the stars as he related his story without emotion.

Bulma gasped softly. He was so young!

"It was natural, woman," he said in reply to her ignorance. "It was done to produce warriors. I was special, however. Being the prince and believed by all to be the Legendary, they were decidedly more stringent in my training."

Bulma marveled at his lack of emotion in telling her this. But then, had he not just told her that emotion was severely punished? She wondered why he could be telling her this, especially when Vegeta seemed to value his privacy so highly. Of course, she wanted to hear more about the Sayian, but it was confusing nonetheless.

"I remember the pain being so great I could not sleep. My mother came in at some point, and she began to speak to me. She told me of Vegeta's history: its great kings of yore, ancient battles and enemies, of the first Legendary, and how we Sayians evolved into the supreme race we are…were," he corrected almost sadly. "In hearing her voice and listening to my history, my destiny, I soon forgot the pain and fell asleep to the sound of her voice."

It dawned on Bulma gradually what he was doing. He was trying to comfort her in the only way he knew how, the only way he himself had ever been comforted. It was working too, surprisingly. She had stopped crying and was caught in his story, listening with rapt attention.

Stealing a glance at Vegeta, she thought he had never looked more regal. The darkness created deep shadows along his angular face, giving him a dramatic appearance. His dark eyes were trained on the heavens above. He did not wear his usual blue body suit, though it detracted nothing from his figure. His loose-fitting black training pants and black tank showed off his physique quite well.

After a thoughtful pause, he began to speak again, telling her what his own mother must have told him that night, so long ago. The sound of his deep, soothing baritone soon lulled Bulma into a peaceful state. As hard as she fought against it, sleep eventually overtook her.

Vegeta paused and glanced over at the woman. He had heard her breathing fall into the deep, even breaths of the slumbering a while ago, but he wanted to be sure she was fast asleep. Wondering what the hell was possessing him to act this way and fighting the compulsion to just leave her be, Vegeta stood up and went over to the woman. He would place her in her bed, but he was not staying this time, he resolved. Carefully, he gathered her into his arms, marveling at her near weightlessness and the contrast she presented—her alabaster skin almost glowing next to his olive.

Bulma naturally snuggled closer to the warm body now holding her, unconsciously wrapping her arms tightly about Vegeta's neck and giving a small sigh. Looking down at the woman, he could not deny that she was beautiful. She had a nearly flawless body, accentuated by her unique colouring. He thought of the way the woman's eyes flashed mightily when she was angry making her like a small hurricane of fury descending upon the poor soul who tempted her rage. He smirked. She was nigh irresistible.

Bulma became aware of being laid down and felt her covers being spread across her body. Opening her eyes, she saw Vegeta's face, his black, endless eyes gazing into her own. Without much thought, Bulma half raised herself from the bed and slipped a hand around Vegeta's neck. She leaned in close and softly placed her lips against his. Immediately he tense under her touch in surprise, but when she hesitantly deepened the kiss, Vegeta relaxed and kissed her back with more passion that she would ever have dreamed of.

The woman's, slow dreamlike movements caught Vegeta off guard, and when she placed her soft, cloud-like lips upon his own, he found he could not resist. He wrapped his arms around her lithe frame, pressing her nearer to his own heated flesh, tasting her exquisite taste as their tongues danced around each other. He shivered slightly as he felt her move her delicate hands up his back, settling in his hair

Bulma pulled back, ending the sweet torture for them both, her lips swollen from their recent activity. Placing a hand lightly on his smooth cheek, she gazed at him with those glittering blue eyes and whispered huskily, "Thank you, Vegeta." She lay back down onto her pillows and closed her eyes, a smile upon her lips.

"Crazy woman," Vegeta murmured, a little stunned and very turned on. He backed out of her room. Settling on his own balcony, his mind never left the blue-haired woman next door.

* * *

"Damn it!" Vegeta cursed as a ki blast slammed into his shoulder, sending the acrid smell of burnt flesh to his sensitive nostrils.

"Shit!" He dodged another blast, which went careening into the shock-absorbent walls of the gravity chamber. His mind was constantly drifting back to the woman or dreaming of a number of possible situations involving her, ruining his focus.

Wholly disgusted with his behaviour, Vegeta had set the gravity chamber to 600x Earth's gravity to give his mind and body more incentive to pay attention. Already, he could tell he had at least three cracked ribs and a variety of burns, cuts, and bruises covered his body. Still, her face would appear before him, beneath him, lips parted, eyes closed in ecstasy….

"Fuck!" Another beam from the training bot singed his shoulder when he dodged just in time. He was only just able to move around in this extreme gravity, the air was thick and shimmering with heat around him.

"I will _not_ carry on in this manner!" he growled. "I have no need for the woman! I am the Prince of all Sayians!" he yelled. "I care for no one!" He poured all his power into himself, feeling it encompass his being. Screaming as it surged through the arteries and sinews of his body; it exploded around him, crackling with an almost cognizant energy.

He could feel the barrier in his mind. He could achieve only so much until he hit that barrier, and no more power would come. He had explored this place once in deep meditation—it was built like a fortress rampart, greedily guarding the seemingly infinite hoard of power that lie behind it. It was enraging! To be so close only to have the power he needed dangled above him like a carrot he could never reach.

How!? How could that blasted moron Kakarot achieve the Legendary, and he could not? The rage fueled his firestorm of energy, raising him up while he stood as the nucleus of the storm, despite the fearsome gravity. There! He could feel a miniscule weakening of the wall. It was minute, but he could feel it!

Suddenly, the control center of the chamber spewed forth a shower of sparks, and the gravity died. His concentration shot from this disturbance, he felt the wall become as solid as it was before, as it had been his whole life. Vegeta felt his firestorm of energy dissipate and sank to his knees.

"NO!" He balled his fists and pounded them into the floor, creating small craters. "I was so close…so close!" he snarled. He looked up murderously at the control center. It had short-circuited again, or so he thought. Vegeta used all his control not to blast the thing to dust in his rage.

His face set in a scowl of outrageous proportions, he stomped out of the gravity chamber. He would find the woman and make her do whatever it took to fix this damn contraption once and for all!

* * *

He stomped through the house, calling for the woman impatiently. Where the hell was she? She's everywhere when he doesn't want her, but now it's as if she vanished. He finally heard a racket coming from her lab, a building set apart from the main house in the backyard. Stalking over, he opened the door and was blasted with the most hideous sound he had ever been so unfortunate as to hear.

The woman had her sound system cranked up almost all the way and was singing along with the hated _music_.

"Yesterday you'd forgiven me, but it'll still be two day's 'till I say I'm sorry!" the music blared. Bulma was standing in front of a large table with an engine-looking thing in front of her. She was wearing a grey mechanic's jumpsuit, her hair in a messy bun, and dancing to the music.

"Woman!" Vegeta yelled.

Bulma did not hear. She was still singing along with the music. "I like the sushi 'cause it's never touched a frying pan. Hot like wasabi when I bust rhymes, big like Leann Rimes, because I'm all about value…" The singing was too fast for her at this point, so she just laughed and yelled out her favourite line, "I like vanilla—it's the finest of the flavours!"

"WOMAN!" Vegeta tried again, a vein popping out of his forehead in his wrath. The music was pounding his eardrums. Locating the source, a thin black console mounted to the wall above a rack of tools, he marched over and shut it off.

"I'm the kind of guy who laughs at a funeral. Can't understand what I mean? Well, you soon will. I have the tendency to…" Bulma trailed off from her singing when she realized that professionals no longer accompanied her.

"Hey! Who the hell turned off my music?" she said, spinning around angrily.

"I did, woman. Though I would hardly call that _shit_ music," he said with a sneer, folding his arms across his chest.

Bulma narrowed her eyes. "I will have you know that the Barenaked Ladies are amazing!" she said imperiously, pointing a small screwdriver in his direction. "You obviously have poor taste in music," Bulma said pityingly.

"_Barenaked Ladies_? What the hell kind of name..." Vegeta stopped with a growl. "Whatever! It matters not. What matters, woman, is that your fucking gravity chamber WILL NOT WORK!"

Bulma thought she had never seen him quite so angry. He looked ready to destroy something…many somethings. It was time to turn that frown upside down, and she knew exactly what would do the trick.

"Really?" she said with a smile. "Fantastic!"

Vegeta had been expecting anger, yelling, hand-on-the-hip-Uh-Uh-Girlfriend-don't-go-there-rage. He could have dealt with that. This—this, flippant attitude, just enraged him further. "_FANTASTIC_?" he spluttered, eyes flashing dangerously. "Woman, I was _this_ close," he said holding his fingers out in example. "I could _feel_ it: the power of the Legendary at my fingertips! AND THE FUCKING MACHINE SHUTS OFF!" he yelled, his face a mottled red. Vegeta was livid. The woman looked at him, a little pissed, he could tell, but still she did not seem overly caring about the situation.

Ok, ok, let the baby throw his tantrum, Bulma thought. "Well," she said evenly, "it probably shut off because the power demand on the engine was too great. What were you running it at? 550, 600x gravity?"

"It was set on 600x gravity. But, I thought your father fixed it the last time!" Vegeta said petulantly. His blinding rage had simmered down a tad.

"I thought so. Look, Vegeta. It's fine. See this?" she said, motioning to the table behind her. "This is the new hydrogen-combustion cell. I was going to have to get you out of there anyway so I could install it, so it's all good," Bulma said with a pleased expression. "After it's installed, the power supply will be greater and the overall efficiency of the chamber will improve. Simply: no more shut downs. You can run it…hmm," she thought, squinting, "I would say to about 1000x gravity without a hint of a problem."

Vegeta, still holding onto his anger from his thwarted efforts, grunted. "Good. When will you be done with this?"

Bulma rolled her eyes. She was installing for him the latest technology after he had manhandled her sound system then yelled at her (all the while, Bulma never lost her temper, mind you), and all he did was impatiently ask how long it would take. So typically male.

"Half a day," she replied, adding a conditional, "_if_ you stay away from my music."

Vegeta snorted and stalked out of the lab, muttering about stupid music, half days, and idiotic women.

Bulma smiled.

* * *

Bulma looked up dreamily from her computer screen. She was thinking about The Kiss…again. She blushed. Even she could not believe she had actually done such a thing. But his eyes. Oh, his eyes, their dark depths seemed to give her a glimpse of the real Vegeta lurking about underneath all his layers of pomp. The night he told her about his planet, that was the real Vegeta. As he kissed her, his hands roaming her body, that was the real Vegeta.

Nothing else had occurred since then, but there was a tension now. It seemed to fill the space between them like tangible, wiggling Jell-O whenever they were together. It crackled like electricity when they spoke and sent shivers racing over her body when she caught his eye. Bulma knew something was bound to happen sooner or later. "Sooner," she said hopefully with wry smile.

Bulma stood up wearily from her orderly desk. She was not the cleanest woman, but when it came to her work, she was obsessively meticulous. Reaching back, she pulled her hair down from its ponytail and combed it through with her fingers. Stretching and giving a huge, definitely lady-like yawn, she stumbled out of her lab and into the darkened kitchen.

Raiding the refrigerator for a small midnight snack, she found a container of strawberries and joyfully ate a handful, savoring their sweet, mildly tangy taste. Taking one for the road, she munched on it as she climbed the stairs. Just as she was walking down the hall towards her chamber, though, the bathroom door swung open. Vegeta stepped into the hall, a white towel tied about his waist.

"Oh," Bulma said in surprise. "Vegeta, I wasn't expecting to see you," she said a little lamely. But, then, what should she say? Hey, you look damn sexy in only a bath towel? She was about to ask him how the gravity chamber was running, but stopped herself from sinking into that quagmire of pointless small talk. So, instead, Bulma flung herself headlong into the bottomless pit of awkward silence.

Vegeta had not had a good day. He had not even come close to touching the barrier, let alone chipping away at the thing. It was an infuriatingly vicious carousel on which he was trapped, and his horse was a fucking lame.

"What do you want, woman?" he said with a scowl.

Bulma balled her fists by her side in anger. Why did he have to always be such a jerk? "I didn't want _anything_, you jerk," she snapped. Reigning in the emotion, Bulma said softer, "I was going to say good night."

"Well, then get it over with, and stop staring," he said with a smirk.

Bulma coloured a deep red. "I was not staring! Maybe if you'd have a little modesty, sheesh…" she said in her defense.

Vegeta chuckled and began to turn away from the woman when he heard her gasp.

"Vegeta! What happened to your shoulder?" she said, her brows drawn together in concern as she saw a deep gash emblazoned across his shoulder. She placed a light hand near the wound, the flesh hot under her touch. "Are you alright?" she asked, fully prepared to drag him down to the medical wing for stitches and bandaging.

Vegeta had to fight a shiver as he felt her place a cool hand on his skin. He had already forgotten about the cut. It's there because of _you_! He wanted to shout at her. An energy disk had clipped him while he was distracted, thinking about the woman, of course. He glared at Bulma, her concerned tone angering him. He didn't need her babying him. He told her as much, jerking his shoulder away from her touch.

"Well, excuse me, Mr. Invincible!" she shot back haughtily. "I was only concerned for your well-being."

"Don't be! Don't you get it? I have no need your petty concern—"

Bulma stopped him, her eyes flashing in indignation. "My concern is anything but petty. Do you honestly believe I do all that I do for you, put up with your damnable pride and insults because I think you'll blow me into the next dimension?" she whispered vehemently. "I do it because I care. Because I care about _you_, Vegeta."

Vegeta knew, though he would never tell her and didn't understand it himself. She was the purest person he had ever met. The last thing he wanted to do was defile that purity with his murderous, blood soaked hands.

Bulma saw the slight yielding in his eyes. "You don't have to be this way, Vegeta. It's all right to care; it's human," she said unthinkingly.

Vegeta snorted. "You speak truth, woman. It is _human_." He spoke the word with disgust. "_I_ am a Sayian warrior," he snarled. "I am a murderer. I do not _care_."

Bulma shook her head sadly, "That's not true."

Vegeta stepped towards her menacingly until her back was against the wall. "Do you presume to know me? You know nothing about me! I have destroyed entire solar systems, woman. Believe me when I tell you not to care for me." He glared at her. He knew his words would have little effect. She would still care.

Staring at Bulma, he was assaulted by her beauty. Her pale skin, tousled blue hair, trembling lip…. He was frightening her. Damn it.

Much as he tried so forcefully to dispute the fact, he wanted the woman. God, how he wanted her! It seemed she was all that occupied his mind—her scent, her taste, the way her supple skin felt beneath his hands. Even in sleep did he find no reprieve…_especially_ in sleep. It was hopeless, however, for there was no conceivable way he could be with her without sacrificing his pride, something he refused for anyone.

Yet, was not the woman more than an 'anyone?' Had she not proved herself a strong, independent genius? Was she not the only person he had ever encountered in his lifetime of terror that openly defied him? It was an argument that could he ignored only so many times. Now, while she was standing there like an angel of mercy and innocence, ready to grant his soul a second chance was not one of those times.

Bulma could feel herself trembling. He looked so cross. It was all she could do not to reach out and caress his face, soothing away all the angry lines. Vegeta stood so close, they were almost touching. He stared at Bulma for a long moment, his eyes boring into her own. She could see the play of emotions running through the obstacle course of his mind, not on his face, but in his eyes. Suddenly, he slid his arm around her neck and kissed her, long and deep.

Vegeta relented to his emotions. Just this once he told himself, but only half believing the lie. He was pleased when he felt the woman respond readily to his action, groaning softly and wrapping her arms around his neck.

Quickly, their kiss grew more heated. Hands began to roam and bodies pressed against each other. Vegeta gathered a handful of the woman's hair in his hand, reveling in the feel of it. Remembering they were in the hallway, Vegeta picked Bulma up, his hands resting on the small of her back as she wrapped her legs around his waist, never breaking their kiss.

Vegeta laid Bulma down on his bed, slowly beginning to lift off her shirt. "Are you sure you want this, woman?" he asked, voice a husky rasp.

Bulma had never wanted anything so much in her life. She nodded. "Yes."

Their two bodies melded into one as they moved together in the night.

* * *

Deep in the cold, desolate stratum of space, a familiar battleship cruised with an air of deadly superiority, leaving behind the scattered remnants of a once beautiful, peaceful planet. There were few in this part of the galaxy who did not tremble in fear when one spoke the name of the commander of this ship. A ship that left complete devastation in its wake. That is, if there were noncompliance. Submit to the battleship's rule, and there was no mercy, just the allowance of life underneath its shadow.

On board this battleship, a scientist, Gal Lazzar, an ugly fellow who rather resembled an octopus stuffed in a spacesuit, felt a trickle of sweat slide down his purple neck under the bright, fluorescent lights of the lab. He breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. He had good reason—the commander would not destroy him—he had succeeded.

The commander was notorious for his cold, calculating rage. He demanded supreme discipline from his crew. One mistake, one less-than-perfect following of an order, and he would seize the unfortunate soldier. What happened next was what insured unequivocal allegiance from the rest. The commander would rip the man's arms and legs off his body, beginning with the fingers and toes. All the while, asking the screaming soldier what he had done wrong, a sadistic upturn of his lips as he watched the person writhe in agony. They all inevitably died from the blood loss. The last one of these little incidents was a few months ago. They did not happen often.

No one angered the commander. He was not stupid; he rewarded obedience. They knew he was the strongest person in the universe. Stick with him, and they'd never go hungry again. Maybe one day when he ruled the universe, they would be allowed to rule a planet.

Ruthless, soulless red eyes roamed over the scientist's creation, a slight inclination of his head his only sign of approval.

"I trust he shall be extraordinary." His voice, devoid of emotion and apathetic in bored indifference, belied the impending brutality if the answer should not please him.

"Oh yes, my lord," Lazzar said hurriedly. "He will be infinitely more powerful than before with the new, ah…modifications."

"And his mind?" the commander probed, showing a vein of interest.

"Well, sir," he said more nervously, "that remains to be determined upon his waking. All scans have shown him to be…relatively the same…."

"Then what are you waiting for? Wake him," Koola commanded, his eyes glinting dangerously.

"Y-Yes, my lord." Lazzar keyed a code into the console before him.

Koola drummed his finger in impatience on the cool, stainless steel table on which the Creation lay.

Suddenly, it blinked open a mechanical eye and focussed it on Koola, a red glow emanating from the cybernetic appendage. Slowly, the thing sat up with sinuous movement, despite half of its chest being made from the same material as the eye: an alloy, tunganium, which was recently discovered to be the strongest substance in the universe. Yet, it remained pliable, one of its greatest attributes and mysteries.

Koola looked into the eyes of this newly modified being with a smirk. "Frieza," he said. "How nice to see you again."

* * *

It had taken several months of continuous, painstaking research, inventions, and tedious rebuilding by Lazzar and his small, trusted gaggle of equally brilliant scientists to reconstruct Frieza's body and mind. Koola had presented them only with various body parts and now, he stood, completely whole and functioning. If he were more sane or not, remained the question.

"Where are we going, Koola?" he asked, flexing a mechanical hand experimentally. He found it to his liking—it was so much more powerful than before.

"We have set a course for Planet Kold." At Frieza's outraged hiss, he explained, "King's orders."

"What the hell do I care for father's orders? I demand you turn around at once. I have unfinished business to attend to," Frieza said through clenched teeth.

"Yes," Koola drawled with a sigh of boredom. "I thought you would say that. Where do you plan to go? Earth? Kill that fellow. What's his name…Goku?"

Frieza was not speaking of Goku, though. Actually, the fool hadn't even crossed his mind. No, his thoughts were set on that damn Sayian Prince. The one who had betrayed him. He would find him, and he would make him pay for his insubordination. Frieza's ruby lips twisted into a smile at the thought of humbling the proud Sayian, conquering his will until Vegeta learned his place—kneeling before him!

"I can take care of that idiot later," Frieza sneered. "It's the Prince I want. I will find him and make him pay."

"Listen, you disgusting, half-cyborg ingrate" Koola said with a condescending glare. "I do not give a flying fuck about your imbecilic, insane obsessions. I thought maybe the good scientist here could fix your twisted brain and make you a respectable Kold again," he said with a pointed look at Lazzar, who gulped in apprehension.

"_Obviously_ that has not happened." Taking a menacing step towards Frieza, he continued in his quietly deadly tone. "Make no mistake, the sole reason you are even here is because King Kold asked me to retrieve you from your disgrace. _I_ wanted to leave you in the ruins of that planet to wither away forever in the silence of space. _I_ have more important things to do than baby-sit a lunatic brother! You _will_ return to Planet Kold, and you _will_ stay there until you learn what it is to be a Kold!" he shouted.

Then Koola made his mistake. The one that would cost him his life. Sure, he was the strongest being in the universe. _Was_. Had he known that following his father's order would be his undoing, he would have blasted the incompetent King himself. But he had followed his orders, and he had rebuilt his brother so well that he far exceeded him now in power. Frieza knew this. He felt it instantly upon being revived and reveled in the thought with glee.

So, he allowed his brother to make his pathetic little speech with the same apathetic indifference Koola affected. But when Koola jabbed a finger into his chest at the conclusion, Frieza acted. Quicker than even Koola could follow, Frieza's hand shot out and grabbed the finger. With a sickening crunch, he snapped it clean off his hand and tossed it to the floor where it lay twitching and spurting thick purple blood.

Koola looked at Frieza in surprised rage. Yet, again, before Koola could even think to prepare an attack, Frieza had already pointed a finger into his face that glowed with the brilliance of a small red sun.

"No one 'baby-sits' me, Koola." He released the ball of energy with a flick of his finger and watched as it encircled Koola's body, disintegrating him instantaneously along with the wall behind him in a terrific explosion.

Lazzar looked on in horror, hiding behind his desk as the explosion rocked the lab. He heard Frieza's maniacal laughter and wondered briefly if life with Koola would now seem a fond memory. He believed it would, with a sinking in his stomach. Just like _that_. He had defeated the strongest being in the universe, just like that, with a _flick_ of his finger. What have I done, what have I done, what have I done….

Frieza looked up through the gaping hole in the wall as soldiers began to assemble from all directions, eyes confused, but faces set in murderous looks. He laughed as they trained their weapons on him and warned him not to move.

"Boys, boys, boys…. It is _so_ delightful for you to come meet your new commander so soon. I just adore eager soldiers." He chuckled in mirth. When one of the bolder soldiers tried to question Frieza, he blasted him with a small ball of ki, his expression turning sour.

"I will say this once. I am Frieza. Koola is dead. I killed him. I am the new commander. I am your lord. I am your god. Follow me or die, but I promise the next deaths shall be neither quick nor painless as this soldier's was. Understood?"

"Yes, Lord Frieza." The soldiers said in unison.

Frieza smiled, a ghastly affair. "Ah, Koola has trained you well, I see. Good." Motioning to the mess, he said, "I want this cleaned up within the hour. Who here is highest ranking?"

A tall, muscular red-headed warrior stepped forward, "I, sir."

"You will show me to the commander's control center. Then, you will bring me the most elite of this ship's fighting capabilities," Frieza commanded.

"Yes, my lord."

It was time to begin searching. He would not let Vegeta live in peace for long now. Frieza nearly pranced down the halls of the battleship in joy. He would have his revenge, and God, would it be sweet!

* * *

As Frieza reclined in his ornate commander's chair, though it was more a throne than a chair, he smiled. He was good. Oh, how magnificently _brilliant_ he was!

It was a mere week since his commandeering of Koola's ship, and already he was halfway to bringing the wayward Sayian back into the fold.

Frieza had had his plan ready before the crew of elite soldiers assembled in his spacious hall. In the blackness of space, one has all the time in the world to think, and think Frieza did. And remembered.

He remembered a certain object, once believed to be but a legend. Then, a myth. Then, nothing more than a forgotten memory.

The Sable Oculus—Frieza was sure it existed. It was said to be an orb that was formed from when the gods were still creating the universe. At that time, it was used as a weapon, for its properties were volatile. As usual, with objects of power, the Oculus could be used for good or disastrously nefarious purposes.

The Sable Oculus was a tool of control. The only way to break its control was to break the thing itself. When one wore it, one need only speak a person's name and instantaneously receive a mental picture of the person and his whereabouts. Obviously, it was how Frieza planned on finding Vegeta. Yet, the Oculus's power was decidedly more than just that mere trifle. Not only did one see the person without their knowledge of being watched, the Oculus also provided access to his mind—the wearer being free to implant their own thoughts and visions into the unsuspecting mind.

Still, the intricacies of the Sable Oculus were not finished. Through extended use of the Oculus on a single person, the wearer formed a connection with him and eventually was able to control his actions. The beauty was that it left the person with the power of free thought, but not the power of free will.

Through some epic battle that precious few knew about anymore, the Oculus was forced from its maker. It was hidden away in the farthest reaches of the universe, safeguarded by a planet whose sole purpose was to defend their burden—Custos Luminis.

Frieza knew of its existence from an old historian on Planet Kold. He vaguely recalled where it was said to be located. With Lazzar's assistance, Frieza was able to pinpoint its exact location. Once the soldiers assembled before him, then, it was only a matter of selecting a squadron of them to retrieve the Sable Oculus.

He had just received word that the mission was successful, though with an unusually high casualty number. The squadron would dock with the battleship in minutes. Frieza was lost in his terrible thoughts when a rap came at the large double doors leading into the hall.

"Enter," Frieza commanded with a smile.

The red-headed soldier, Zanine—who now sported a healing gash over his left eye and looked generally just like he had emerged from a smoking battlefield—entered and strode confidently to Frieza's chair. He knelt with an arm to his chest in fealty before him. "Frieza, my lord."

Frieza was ecstatic to note that he held a small wooden box in his free hand. "I trust you have brought me what I desire, hm, Zanine?" Zanine pleased Frieza. He was a ruthless, extremely strong and capable soldier, and unquestioningly loyal.

"Yes, my lord," he said, presenting Frieza with the wooden box.

"Good. Very good." He hissed in pleasure. "Now leave." He dismissed the soldier. Zanine bowed once more and turned smartly, striding back towards the door.

Alone once more, Frieza turned his full attention to the ornately carved wooden box in his hand. Opening it carefully revealed the Sable Oculus lying on a silken cushion of deep blue. The Oculus was smaller than he had imagined, but it was no less beautiful.

It was a sphere so dark it seemed to absorb the light around it. When Frieza peered into its depths, however, he saw a swirl of smoky turquoise ripple its otherwise placid interior. Fixed to the top of the sphere was a delicate golden plate to which was attached a deceptively fragile looking gold chain.

With eyes shining in rapture, Frieza placed the Sable Oculus around his neck and whispered. "Vegeta."

Immediately, he felt the Oculus grow warm against his cold, pale skin and was plunged into the pit of space. It was all in his mind, though it felt as if he were actually zooming along himself. Traveling at the speed of light, Frieza passed suns, stars, and various, multi-coloured planets.

He had no time to wonder at this oddity, for he was plunged toward the blue planet, which was covered in darkness at the time. He appeared in a darkened room. What he saw there made his blood boil in a fit of insane rage and disgust.

Vegeta was entangled with a blue-haired woman, mindlessly mating with her. As they moved together at a frenzied pace, he heard him grunt out the woman's name as they reached their pinnacle.

"Bulma." Vegeta collapsed on top of the woman, kissing her and rolling her over so he did not crush her with his weight. Frieza was too blind with anger to listen to what was said. It was clear that this Bulma was no whore or one-night stand. Vegeta cared for her. And Vegeta cared for no one.

So Frieza's plans changed. He would not use the Oculus on Vegeta; he would use it on the woman. He would destroy the Sayian Prince with the one thing he had been stupid enough to care for.

Frieza smirked malevolently, he would break the woman down in front of his eyes, then he would take her away. He would take control of her and bring her to his ship. Vegeta would inevitably take the bait.

It was flawless. Vegeta would soon see how woefully overpowered he was. He could not defeat Frieza before on Namek, and there was no way he could defeat him now. He would have no choice but to surrender.

Frieza took off the Oculus. Immediately, the bedroom scene vanished, and Frieza looked upon his throne room once more. He set the orb lovingly back in its case with a caress from a pointed black fingernail.

"It is time, Vegeta," he said to himself. "It is time to _pay_, my sweet Prince!" he whispered, laughing the psychotic laugh of the obsessively demented.

* * *

So! Did you enjoy it? Review and tell me, then! : )

"All At Once"  
Jack Johnson

_All at once,  
The world can't overwhelm me  
There's almost nothin' that you could tell me  
That could ease my mind_

_Which way will you run?  
When it's always all around you  
And the feelin' lost and found you again  
A feelin' that we have no control  
Around a song  
Some say  
There's gonna be the new hell  
Some say  
It's still too early to tell  
Some say  
It really ain't no myth at all_

_Keep askin' ourselves are we really  
Strong enough  
There's so many things that we got  
Too proud of  
We're too proud of  
We're too proud of_

_I wanna take the preconceived  
Out from underneath your feet  
We could shake it off  
Instead we'll plant some seeds  
We'll watch 'em as they grow  
And with each new beat  
From your heart the roots grow deeper  
The branches will they reach for what?  
Nobody really knows  
But underneath it all  
There's this heart all alone_

_There's a world we've never seen  
There's still hope between the dreams  
The weight of it all  
Could blow away with a breeze  
If your waitin' on the wind  
Don't forget to breathe  
Cause as the darkness gets deeper  
We'll sink until we reach for love  
At least somethin' we could hold  
But I'll reach to you from where time just can't go_

_What about is gone  
And it really wont be so long  
Sometimes it feels like a heart is no place to be singin' from at all_

A few notes about the chapter:

"One Week" by the Barenaked Ladies was the song Bulma was singing in her lab. If you desire, go to YouTube and check out the "One Week" Bathroom Sessions video. It rocks.

_Oculus _is the Latin word for "eye."

_Custos Luminis_ is Latin for "guardian eye."

-ASA : )


	3. Break Me Down

Sorry this note is a tad longish, but I have a few things to explain. I had this chapter ready a week ago. Alas, due to the retardedness of my computer offing itself, the posting was delayed. It all seems to be in working order now, so that's fabulous. Anywho, I tried to go into detail with a few technical/medical aspects in this chapter. As I am neither a scientist nor a doctor, please forgive me if my information is inaccurate. Trust me, though, I did my best to make it believable. (Let me know if you think something needs changing, and I'll consider it.) Finally, the chapter's title, "Break Me Down," is from Red, an amazing Christian hard rock band.

Oh yeah! Oodles of thanks to **Shadow of Existance**, **Lhia**, **Shades of Crimson**, and **Clear Eyed Dreamer** for their splendid reviews!

**Warning:** There's some graphic violence towards the middle of the chapter. If that rocks your boat, you obviously don't have to read it (free will and all, y'know).

* * *

"Break Me Down"

Vegeta's eyes snapped open as the unnaturally bright purplish-blue hue of lightning lit up the bedroom, the following distant thunder an unwelcome harbinger of the storm to come. It was still quite early in the morning. An unintelligible murmur came forth from the whorl of blue hair splayed across his bare chest, drawing his attention. The woman. He smirked in satisfaction as he recalled their many actions just hours ago. It had been far beyond any scenario his mind had ever conjured for him over the last few weeks. Quickly, the smirk vanished, replaced immediately with a frown.

He had been weak. He exhibited no control whatsoever. He cursed himself under his breath. No matter how badly his body had begged for this release, he should not have given in. Now he would never see an end to the woman's constant attentions. The embarrassing fact that he did not desire for those attentions to cease proved he had let things go too far. This could not go on; it was an inexcusable weakness. Besides, the woman would—could—never be satisfied with him.

If that in itself were not enough, then there was this: the vast majority of the population on this planet may live in denial or ignorance of life in the rest of the universe, but Vegeta was not so naïve. One could not live his life without accruing an unfathomable amount of enemies. Until Vegeta could truthfully proclaim himself the strongest being in the universe, he would not endanger the woman's life on account of his sins.

Hell, he thought bitterly, he had hardly managed to save her in time from those two goons that night, and then only after they had their filthy hands all over her. The thought was enraging enough for him to entertain the idea of finding the dragon balls just so he could wish them to life and give them a more befitting death.

Vegeta scowled, he would end this—drive her away for her own sake, not to mention his sanity. These, these…_feelings_…she evoked in him were like foreign invaders crusading about in his mind. They were messy and convoluted. There was no black-and-white, cut-and-dry clarity to them at all. On the contrary, everything was a grey, wishy-washy middle ground. Vegeta preferred the stark reality of his Sayian ways. Their absoluteness guided him; they were what he was meant to live by. He did not want to feel, he told himself for the thousandth time. He wanted to train. He needed to ascend to his destiny. And that meant getting rid of Bulma.

Another flickering of lightning briefly illuminated the interior of the room and Vegeta's hardened, emotionless features. He untangled himself from Bulma and got out of bed, allowing the woman's head to drop to the sheets from its previous position atop his chest. Bulma let out a groan of displeasure as she felt the sudden loss of Vegeta's warm body next to her own.

"Nmmmnn 's too early," she mumbled, her words muffled as she spoke half into the sheets of the bed. Hearing a sharp snort, she smiled to herself, blushing slightly at the remembrance of whose bed she was in. Stretching leisurely, she opened her eyes in the dark room. Another flash of lightning revealed Vegeta's figure standing in front of the window, arms crossed, staring out at the first smattering of fat raindrops.

Bulma took a moment to admire his ever-impressive physique and suppress the urge to sigh like a besotted schoolgirl. He wore only a pair of black boxers, the rest of him fully exposed for her scrutiny. She felt she would never tire of looking at the perfect man before her. Tearing her eyes away, she glanced at the clock: 4:21. With only a few hours of sleep, it was no wonder she still felt exhausted. Pleased, no doubt, but exhausted nonetheless.

Propping herself up with an elbow, she spoke softly. "Good morning." As if to contradict the veracity of her statement, the storm outside bellowed out a loud rumble of thunder. Vegeta shifted ever so slightly, rippling the corded muscles in his back.

"Hmph. Some may call it that," he growled, not bothering to turn around. Bulma felt a small uneasiness at his harsher than usual tone.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes. You're still here. Get out," he said. His eyes never left the storm outside.

Bulma narrowed her eyes in angry confusion, sitting up in the bed as if that would allow her to better comprehend the situation. "_Excuse_ me?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. He knew he would not get away with this without a fight. Honestly , he expected no less from the woman. "You heard me, or are those human ears punier than I thought?" he mocked. "Get. Out." He repeated himself slowly.

Vegeta would leave no room for doubt in her mind. "I am a warrior, not some pathetic _boyfriend_," he spat, as if the very word burned his tongue in its obscenity. "I will not fawn over you or hold your hand or whatever the hell it is you might expect," he said. "Now leave, I am already late beginning my training."

Vegeta turned away from the window and stalked to his closet to get his usual training garb, not looking at the woman for fear he may just change his mind, jump back into bed, and pick up where they left off earlier. He suppressed the almost overwhelming urge—this is why he must do this. She was ruining his control. He could hear her increased, indignant breathing and almost feel the waves of anger rolling in his direction at his decidedly less than civil dismissal.

Bulma tried to quell the rage and pain she felt at Vegeta's blunt words. She knew from experience that blowing up at him rarely solved any problems. She tried, instead, to uncover the reason for this abrupt change in attitude. The most likely cause seemed to be the time they spent together just hours ago. That damned Sayian pride of his...

Chewing on her bottom lip in consternation, Bulma realized that Vegeta was probably terrified, and this behaviour was purely a manifestation of that fear. He had lowered his pride, his primary line of defense against the outside world since he was a child, to be with her. Now he was madly scrambling to retrieve it, lashing out in the process like a caged animal, uncaring of the consequences.

He knew no better. All he knew, all he had ever known was cruelty, deceit, and suffering. How was he to know that she held no ulterior motives? Vegeta probably considered her his greatest threat at the moment, ready to exploit any weakness she had gleaned from the few unguarded hours she had spent with him.

Well, she would just have to prove him wrong. His actions made sense to her now in this light, though it did nothing to still the tumult of anger and hurt she felt.

Wrapping the sheet around her body, she walked past the window where the wind was now whipping the rain into the panes, sending a multitude of sinuous rivulets snaking down the glass. She stood behind Vegeta, who was still rummaging in his closet, pointedly ignoring her presence, as if he could not deign to look at her.

"Damn it, Vegeta! Why are you doing this?" She raised her voice in exasperation, her knuckles whitening with the death grip she held on the sheets.

No response. Taking a calming breath, she tried to figure out a way to get through to the stubborn man.

"Look," she said, pleased when her voice came out neutral and not enraged. "I admit I know next to nothing about your life. But from what I do know, it wasn't easy. It was barely livable, yet here you stand. You probably haven't gotten used to people caring about you not for your strength or what you can accomplish for them, but for who you _are_, Vegeta…and who you _can_ be," she said quietly.

Vegeta had abandoned his search and was now staring ahead into the blackness of his closet. Bulma took a step closer and laid a hand on his shoulder. Ignoring his flinch at her contact, Bulma caressed the muscled bicep and let her hand fall back to her side.

"I care, Vegeta. I care about the man I know you can be. Don't you see that? I _want_ to be here with you. Would it kill you to allow some good in your life for once?"

Vegeta steeled himself against Bulma's touch and her words, her offer of a better life. He deserved nothing good, and he sure as hell did not deserve her. Sliding the icy, weather-beaten armor back into its familiar residence over his heart, Vegeta prepared to send the woman away.

Giving a derisive snort, he turned to face Bulma, an arrogant smirk written upon his features. "Once again," he sneered, "you seriously misjudge your status in my life, woman. What makes you think _I_ want you here? You were merely a one-night fuck, and not a terribly great one at that."

Before coherent thought could check her actions, Bulma raised her hand and brought her palm down onto the Sayian's cheek with a resounding smack.

Naturally, Vegeta hardly registered the blow. Though the fact that she had the audacity to strike him, the Prince of all Sayians, shocked him—it was a brazen move even for her. Growling his irritation, he restrained himself from doing the woman bodily harm. Any other person would be a miniscule pile of ash littering the floor by now.

Cradling her smarting hand, Bulma stared at the impossible man before her, pained tears springing to her eyes. He was lying. She knew she wasn't wrong.

"You keep telling yourself that, Vegeta," she spat with a ferocious glare. "But if you think for one second that I believe that revolting load of shit, _you_ are the one who has seriously misjudged something here." Ignoring the tears his words had evoked, Bulma looked into the Sayian's cold eyes, pleading for him to drop the indifferent façade.

"What happened last night was far from a one-night fuck." She threw his words back venomously. "You and I both know that. Stop fighting this, Vegeta. Stop fighting me. I'm not the enemy. "

Vegeta looked into the woman's clear blue eyes, glittering with unshed tears and determination. How? How could she be so sure of herself, so sure that she knew what he was feeling when even he didn't know anymore? Her uncanny ability to see right through him—his words, his fortifications—it was unnerving. It simply would not do to have her know all his thoughts. It allowed her far too much power over him. So he played off his agitation with a blank face and an apathetic shrug.

"Tell yourself what you will, woman," he said coldly, donning a training suit and striding over to the window. "Rest assured that I neither give a fuck nor do I wish to hear your pitiful voice any longer. If you will not leave, I will." Without a backwards glance, Vegeta threw open the window and took off into the storming darkness.

Gusting winds sent the cold, driving rain in through the wide-open window, soaking Bulma's front. With an enraged growl, she slammed the thing shut, rattling the panes in their wooden frame.

"That…that MONKEY! The bastard! How—how _dare_ he! Pitiful voice…_Oooh_!" she snarled. Bulma found it hard to even string together a coherent insult. Running her hands violently through her tangled hair, she gazed balefully out the window in the direction Vegeta had taken off, finding the inclement weather perfectly matching her mood.

Breathing heavily, she spun away from the window and exited the room, slamming the door behind her. Blindly making her way to her own chamber, she barged into the bathroom and prepared to take a long, hot shower.

As the steaming spray pounded relentlessly against her skin, Bulma wondered when, or if, her life would ever return to normal.

"Hmph," she said quietly to herself. "Define _normal_."

* * *

Bulma smiled grimly at the work-in-progress gleaming softly on the cluttered worktable before her. The hot shower did nothing for her wheeling mind, so she sought refuge in the one place where she would always feel at home—her lab.

Here there were no feelings of helplessness to plague her, no incorrigible Sayians to infuriate her, no distractions to steal away her concentration. For when her mind was abuzz with complex theorems, biomechanical possibilities, and differential equations, it left no room for anything else—exactly what she needed now.

Sitting back in her chair, she wearily rubbed her stiff neck. She couldn't remember how long she'd been working; but if one were measuring time by the number of coffee refills, it was at least five hours. It was not how she typically spent her Sunday mornings, though it was safe to say this morning hardly qualified as typical.

Shaking away that train of thought, she picked up her mug and tipped back the last dregs of lukewarm coffee. She had made satisfying headway on her little project, something she tinkered around with between company obligations. It was the first weapon she had ever created. The thought both thrilled and terrified her. Strictly speaking, it really was not a weapon; it was more of an enhancer. Bulma liked to refer to it as the Ki Augmenter.

Spending her entire life surrounded by her planet's strongest warriors, Bulma had often secretly wondered what it was like to fight. She hated being constantly relegated to the sidelines. Brilliant genius that she was, Bulma could always help in that department, but it just wasn't the same.

Then one day, not long after she returned from Namek, she had an epiphany. The source of the guys' strength was their ki. They increased their power through the manipulation of that ki. So, theoretically, all Bulma needed to do was create a mechanism that could take the ki that resided in all beings, no matter how miniscule it may be, and enhance it somehow. It seemed so glaringly obvious once she actually thought about it. She didn't know why she hadn't sooner.

Looking down at the wristband, Bulma marveled at her expertise. It really was a masterpiece, well, _almost_ a masterpiece. The primary design she had sketched out rather quickly. As the ubiquitous _they_ say, the devil is in the details. The thing could easily be mistaken for a large, odd-looking watch. Once she worked out all the kinks, though, she would begin scaling down the size and streamlining the design.

The Augmenter sported a sensitive metal lining its underside. This detected the ki of the wearer and channeled it into the inner compartment. Here, the concentrated ki was bombarded with gamma rays, exciting the fundamental particles that comprise the energy, thereby exponentially increasing its power while also stimulating the production of more. Finally, the modified ki would be funneled back into the wearer's body. He or she should then be able to use and produce more ki, enabling them to fight with greater strength, have increased speed and stamina, and possibly even use energy attacks and fly. The possibilities were astounding.

As with all projects, Bulma had run into scads of dead ends, created endless prototypes, and dealt with a variety of glitches, malfunctions, and everything in between. It was "the lifeblood of a scientist!" as her dad would say. Bulma had to admit he was right. The challenge was what she lived for.

The Augmenter's most frequent malfunction was in maintaining a suitable equilibrium between channeling the wearer's ki into the modification compartment and funneling it back into the person's body. Preliminary tests on the expected current exchange showed that the Augmenter tended to expend more ki than it replaced, which could potentially drain the person of all their energy and result in death.

To avoid that nasty little outcome from occurring, Bulma spent the past hours working on creating a modulator system to go inside the Augmenter. If it worked according to her specifications, the modulator would monitor the Augmenter's input and output ki flow. Judging by the wearer's initial ki reading, it would determine the necessary amount of input ki needed for the wearer's survival and ensure the input never fell below that level.

She was still in the prototyping phase for the modulator, but she was so close. Now it was only a matter of getting these nasty diffusion equations to work out. Bulma encapsulated the nearly finished Augmenter and slipped it into her jeans pocket. She would not need to work on the actual model for a while yet. Glancing at her pages of meticulous notes and formulas, Bulma decided another cup of coffee was in order before she tackled the complicated problem once more.

* * *

Lazzar flipped the lid down over the control panel and sat back on his heels with a sigh. He wiped his purple forehead of the beads of sweat that glistened there.

"I'm getting too old for this," he muttered, struggling to his feet. Looking into the white tiled room, he prayed it would work. Frieza had commanded he build a special holding cell for 'a new arrival,' as he had put it.

In theory, the cell was designed to hold captive an infinitely strong being. Through studying some of the soldiers on the ship, Lazzar was able to devise an opposing force to the ki they exhibited in order to fight. Lacing the cell with this "anti-energy," it subdued the strongest soldiers. Lazzar stepped inside the empty chamber for a last inspection.

The scientist felt a familiar rage seething inside him, clawing at his insides as if it were a living beast. How he hated that monster…his own creation. At least Koola had been somewhat sane. Ruthless and diabolical—yes, but at least the bastard possessed a mind. He was never unnecessarily violent, knowing when and how to contain his temper. Frieza, the twisted soul, was as batty as a Trundleloog in its first heat.

Stopping at the restraints, two sets of steel protruding from the ceiling and floor, Lazzar gave an involuntary shudder. "Frieza," he said quietly. "What have you made me do now?"

Last time it was an entire planet—obliterated. Every last man, woman, and child was dead by his doing. He did not kill them personally, but he found the coordinates to Custos Luminis. He signed their death warrant with a cowardly flourish. Lazzar held his pudgy, calloused hands before him and grimaced. He was no better than the monsters he served.

"Oh, Lasnin. What you must think of me," he whispered. "Look what I have become: a murderer. I fear I shall never see your face again. Only the darkest pits of Hell are reserved for cowards like me." His voice was distorted with emotion as he bitterly upbraided himself.

"My beloved—I fail you again," he said brokenly. It was not often that he allowed himself to dwell on his deceased lover; rarer still that he indulged in the sweet sound of her name on his lips.

Eleven years—eleven long, empty years the Kolds had enslaved him. Eleven years since his home world, Zivvian, was destroyed. Eleven years since his lover, his children, his family was murdered. Eleven years since he had truly been alive.

Lazzar forced himself to remember his last moments with Lasnin. He deserved to feel every piercing wave of anguish the memory evoked.

_Outside their cottage, the screams of the dying mingled with the harsh laughs of the purging soldiers. The shockwaves of distant explosions echoed off the walls of the once peaceful town, sending dust and mortar floating into the smoke-darkened sky. Lazzar huddled with his family in their living room. Lasnin was trying desperately to soothe their young ones' tears and keep them quiet. _

_"Gal," she whispered. "Gal, they're coming." The look in her eye betrayed the hysterical fear her voice denied. _

_Suddenly, the doors splintered open with a deafening crack. Two soldiers strode into the home. Lazzar stood in front of his family protectively. His was a peaceful race, but he would be damned if he let these monsters slaughter his family without a fight. _

_Lasnin, right behind him, clutching their whimpering children to her with frightening force, whispered quickly in his ear. "Gal, you've made my life worth living. Promise me I'll see you on the other side. Promise that you'll find me, Gal... I love you."_

_"I promise," he whispered back, turning to place a swift kiss on her soft lips. He charged the soldiers._

_They laughed at his attempt to fight, throwing him easily against a wall. While he lay incapacitated amidst the broken stone, they tore his children from Lasnin's grasp and carelessly blasted them into nothingness. With his lover's screams ringing in his ears, Lazzar struggled to right himself and attack the men again. One of them grabbed Lasnin, pinning her arms to her back. Lazzar stopped in his tracks._

_"Lasnin! No! Wait, don't do this," he pleaded with the soldiers._

_Her green eyes were wide with fear, though she gave Lazzar a serene smile. "Be strong, Gal. Be the man I know you are," she said softly. She closed her eyes. A second later, the soldier blasted a hole through her chest and threw her lifeless body to the floor. _

_"_NO! Lasnin!_" he cried hoarsely, falling to his knees by her side. "Oh, Lasnin...no. No! No! NO!" he sobbed, cradling her body in his arms, her precious blood staining his hands, his arms, his clothes._

_He awaited the sweet oblivion of death, but the blow never came. They wanted the men alive. Lazzar was taken, his genius discovered, and the rest was inglorious history. _

Lazzar broke from his reverie, clearing his throat and wiping his leaking eyes. "I'm so sorry, Lasnin. Forgive me, if you can," he implored.

A futile wish. There would be no forgiveness—not for what he had allowed himself to become.

* * *

Frieza absentmindedly twirled the Sable Oculus from its chain, the stone glinting lazily in the dim light of his frosty throne room. His mind was occupied by his impending revenge on that filthy, egotistical monkey, Vegeta.

It enraged him to no end that the Sayian had never truly melded to his will. Ever since he was a child and Frieza had first come into possession of the boy prince, the ingrate had defied him at every turn with cocky determination.

Frieza gave an angry snort. None of those Sayians really ever subjugated themselves to his rule. All their pompous talk of strength and honour and pride—it gave him a headache. Just look where that got them, he thought with a low chuckle.

Of all those pigheaded Sayians, though, Vegeta was different. No one had ever dared to oppose him as blatantly as he had. Frieza fisted his trembling fingers as the paroxysm of anger seared through his mind like an uncontrollable wildfire.

No matter how many times he beat him, humiliated him, sent him on near impossible purging missions—he never broke. Vegeta never kneeled before him in acknowledgement of his infinite power. Now, after all these years, he would finally suffer for his insubordination. Frieza would see that damnable Sayian in his rightful place, bowing before the ruler of the universe.

To think that all this would come to fruition because of an ancient, mystical stone and a woman! It was almost too easy. Once he possessed the human female, Vegeta would inevitably follow—a moth to his irresistible flame. Of this, he was sure. Frieza had not known Vegeta to have any attachments or show the slightest inclination of emotion to anyone save wrath and pride. This Bulma was the key. She held an unquestionable power over him. For Vegeta to couple with her, she must. That was why it would be such great sport to thoroughly and completely destroy her. Frieza nearly squirmed in his chair with unrestrained mirth at the thought.

Holding the Oculus before his malevolent red eyes, Frieza ordered his thoughts. He needed to establish contact with the woman's mind before he could begin to control her. Frieza recalled every heinous memory he could with a wicked smile. Past battles, gruesome tortures, the deaths of countless innocents—these would do perfectly. Nothing would be easier to control than a mind already in terrified pandemonium.

* * *

Bulma stared pensively out her lab window at the dark mid-morning sky, her fresh cup of coffee warm in her hands, its tendrils of steam lightly fogging the glass. The storm had yet to soothe its foul temper. It raged on, forcefully bending tree branches this way and that in the heavy winds while miniature lakes formed on the lawns of Capsule Corp.

Against her will, she found herself worrying about Vegeta. The gravity chamber stood in its corner of the compound, a somber grey sentinel. None of the customary lights flashed from the small windows nor did the familiar rumble of contained explosions reach her ears. It could only mean that Vegeta was out somewhere in this dreadful weather, most likely beating his brains out training.

Bulma rolled her eyes and took a sip of the warm caffeinated beverage. She knew her concern was unfounded. As he loved to remind her, the man _was_ a Sayian warrior. She doubted even the most severe weather could do any harm to him. Still…she worried.

Bulma's face pulled into an irritated frown, and she turned away from the window. The only emotion she wanted towards that bastard right now was anger. If Vegeta thought that stunt he threw this morning fooled her, then he had another think coming. She was Bulma Briefs, not a woman to be trifled with!

_But what if he was serious?_ Bulma stiffened unconsciously at the thought. The torrent of doubt spilled forth from the dam she had built to keep it at bay. Was she was deluding herself—thinking that Vegeta would ever want to stay with her, that he had and still could change? Was this whole thing really a farce? Just some whimsical wonderland Bulma created in her mind where an evil murderer could magically turn into Prince Charming, a place where she could escape from the fact that her boyfriend cheated on her as if she were nothing…where she could pretend _that_ night had never happened?

"No," she whispered a little forcefully, trying to end the tirade of doubt. "No, it's more than that, I know. It has to be."

Call it her intuition. Others frequently chastised Bulma for her impulsive behaviour. Sure, she would be the first to admit that those people were usually right, but over the years, she had learned to trust her instincts. Right now, they were practically screaming at her that there was more to Vegeta than he would ever care to admit. The night they shared being one steaming piece of passionate evidence supporting that hypothesis. It would take more than a little temper tantrum from the Prince of all Sayians to scare her off. Bulma smirked. If this was the game he wanted to play, she was not even about to give up.

Besides, she thought with another sip of coffee, she didn't want Prince Charming. She did not want or need perfection. What she needed was honesty, loyalty—something _real_.

With those placating thoughts in mind, Bulma walked thoughtfully over to the space pod shining in the corner of her lab. It was delivered just yesterday, the first model of the new design off the assembly line. Running a hand lovingly across its cool metal exterior, she appreciated the simple beauty of her creation.

"Gosh, I cannot wait to test drive this baby," she murmured to herself. Sighing, she eyed her paper-strewn workstation. "I guess those equations won't figure themselves out." As she stepped in that direction, however, a wave of lightheadedness washed over her.

"Woah…" she slurred. The room seemed to tilt on its axis around her. She reached a hand out to the space pod to steady herself, leaning heavily on the machine. Suddenly a white-hot pain needled through her head. Crying out from the shock, Bulma lost her hold on her coffee cup, sending it shattering to the floor. Its contents splattered onto the once pristine surface. Cradling her head in her hands, another series of needle-like fire lanced through her brain. Her face twisted in agony, and she sank to her knees, gasping as the torment continued. Bulma realized with a surge of horror that her vision was beginning to blacken.

Hyperventilating in her terror, Bulma froze. She could not see; she could not think of anything beyond the blinding pain. Breathless and trembling, she curled into a fetal ball on the cold floor, waiting for whatever was happening to her to subside.

Instead, her suffering worsened. It felt as if someone were prying open her skull with a dull crowbar. Pained tears sprang from her tightly clenched eyes. Incredulously, Bulma thought she could hear laughter echoing through her mind—evil, hissing laughter mocking her, taunting her in its malice.

"_Make it stop. Make it stop_," she whimpered to any gods who might be listening, curling tighter into herself. Then—a flash of vision, though it was not her own.

* * *

_She was hovering above a scorched and blackened landscape, the low-hanging sun lending a menacing red glow to the foreign terrain. In front of her, there was a hegira of frightened natives, many casting panic-stricken glances over their shoulder as they stumbled and jostled away from the source of their terror. _

_A sick joy that was not her own permeated her mind as fiery red beams of unforgiving energy flew amongst their ranks, all hitting their targets with deadly accuracy. Agonized cries wrenched through the oppressive atmosphere as they fell to the ground, their blood gushing and spurting from the fatal wounds._

_Again, that maniacal laughter resonated harshly in the thick air. Countless more were hunted down like animals while Bulma could only look on in helpless horror. The surviving mass stumbled over the gory bodies of the dying in their panic; those who tried to help soon met the same bloody fate. _

_With another acute flash of pain, the scene changed and Bulma found herself in a different, though no less disturbing, environment. Besides the overwhelming darkness of the area, the first thing that caught her attention was ragged, laboured breathing. A cold chill crept across her skin at the dank atmosphere of what could only be a cell. _

_The muffled click of footsteps stopped outside the room. A pause—then the jangling of keys followed by an ominous unlatching of the door. Someone must have flicked on a switch, for blindingly white light flooded the space directly over the origin of the breathing._

_Bulma hardly registered the soldiers who marched into the room. Her attention was fixated in startled dismay and pity on the being lying strapped to a low, flat table before her. He was not human, but anyone could tell that he had sustained one hell of a beating. His light orange skin was mottled with dark brown bruises, multiple oozing lacerations adorned his pummeled chest and shoulders, and his bleary, shockingly violet eyes were swollen nearly shut. _

_He started and squinted when the lights flicked on mercilessly. The man tried to turn to look at the new arrivals, but winced in pain, quickly sucking in his breath through gritted teeth. That was when Bulma saw the ugly inflamed gash running along his side, his sudden movement reopening the wound. Though he was in obvious agony, he managed to muster a sternly defiant glare for the soldiers. _

_"Aww__, whassa matter, Mah'oin?" One of the soldiers taunted him. "You shoulda known rebellin' like that'd get you in this here lovely little hell hole."_

_Bulma saw the flicker of familiar pride light up Mah'oin's eyes as he steeled himself against the taunt. "At least, Varset, I can die knowing I tried to avenge my people; that I did not die a slave. That is more than you will ever know in your cowardly servitude to your 'almighty' ruler," the man said in a strained, though, dignified voice._

_Varset gave an inarticulate cry of rage and backhanded Mah'oin hard across his already swollen cheek. Mah'oin took the blow in stride, spitting out vivid blue blood at his attacker's feet. _

_"You seditious scum! We're gonna make an example of you," Varset threatened darkly, "_and_ then we'll see jus' how self-righteous you are when we're finished. Doc!" he barked. "He's ready for ya'." He chuckled and stood aside as another man approached._

_He was a gaunt, tall man, wearing a rubber apron and gloves, a twisted grin about his face and eyes like a dead fish. His sallow skin gleamed sickeningly in the bright lights. Bulma felt the icy fingers of dread clawing at the pit of her stomach. She thought knew where this was going, but she could do nothing to stop it from happening. _

_The "Doc" set a large black box on the table next to Mah'oin, opening it as the rest of the soldiers assembled around the supine figure. Of course, Bulma's view remained perfectly unobstructed. The Doc pulled out a metal clamp with a crank on the side. Leaning over his subject, he grabbed the man's jaw with surprising alacrity and strength. Wrenching his mouth open, he jammed the clamp into place, forcing Mah'oin's mouth wide open._

_Mah'oin grunted ferociously, but Bulma could see the fear in his dilated pupils. The Doc snickered in glee. With a pair of tongs in one hand and a keen, glinting blade in the other, he proceeded to cut out the poor man's tongue. _

_Mah'oin clenched his eyes shut at the terrible onslaught of pain, a strangled cry gurgling from his bloody mouth. Bulma felt dizzy and nauseated at the ghastly sight. She needed to throw up. She needed out of here…wherever here was. But she still could not move. She had no control over what was happening. _

_On the Doc progressed, oblivious to Bulma's distress, silent and sadistic in his cruel work. Bulma could not turn away from the repulsive scene that was only getting worse. The Doc ran the blade along Mah'oin's beautiful orange chest—slicing open the flesh all the way down to his navel. Amidst the flood of gore and Mah'oin's nightmarish bellows of pain, he deliberately began to peel back his skin, revealing the man's internal organs. _

_Bulma was numb. Shock was all she could feel at what she had just seen—what she continued to see. Using the blade and tongs, the Doc slowly drew out his still-attached intestines, setting them on the table in steaming piles next to Mah'oin's body. At this point, the soldiers were using all their might to restrain his panicked thrashing. _

_The Doc was not finished with Mah'oin yet, however. Digging through his black box while the soldiers got a better hold on the flailing, screaming man, he found what he was looking for: rib shears. Bulma could only pray Mah'oin died before the Doc had his way completely. _

_Suddenly, he went limp. They checked his pulse: weak, but still alive. He had passed into unconsciousness from the intense pain and blood loss. Bulma thought maybe now they would give him a break and stop this horrible madness. No—he pulled out a syringe and stuck it in__ Mah'oin's__ arm, pumping him full of the amber liquid. It must have been a stimulant, for Mah'oin jolted awake with a cry. _

_Ignoring the mutilated man's sobs, the doc opened his ribcage, one sickening crunch after another. Bulma felt blind fury at this animalistic man. She wanted to tackle him, beat him to the ground, and pound him senseless. How could he do this to another living being? How could he be so unaffected by his tortured shrieks of agony? But he wasn't unaffected, Bulma realized. He enjoyed this. _

_The soldier had to administer the shot two more times during the Doc's work. They wanted to make sure he was awake and feeling for every last bit of torture he could inflict. Bulma could not stand much more. With silent sobs, she watched as the Doc plunged his gloved hand into Mah'oin's chest cavity and ripped out his beating heart. _

_Plumes of his sparkling blue blood spurted out of the severed arteries, staining the soldiers' uniforms and falling messily to a floor already slick with the liquid. Mah'oin made a choking gasp, his eyes wide and streaming tears as the Doc held his spasmodic heart up for him to see. Mah'oin spluttered and coughed, sending a fine spray of blood into the Doc's face. His head fell back to the table with a dull thud, his violet eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Mah'oin was dead. _

_The Doc took off his rubber gloves and raked a bony hand across his face, smearing sweat with the blood that landed there. Settling that remorseless gaze on his bloodied fist, his thin lips curved into a wicked grin._

The knife-like pain sliced through her mind once again. This time, though, Bulma fought with all her strength against it. She would not sit helplessly through another one of those...visions. She did not know how to fight this unseen force, but fight she did. The more she resisted, the more intense the pain became.

'STOP IT!_ Get out of my head_!' she yelled soundlessly. Bulma screamed as the torment escalated beyond any pain she thought possible to bear. 'Leave me alone!' she cried with one last effort to resist the assault on her mind.

The visions came hot and quick, with furious intensity—the incessant images of suffering, death, and loss blurring before her mind's eye. Bulma could not fight this; it was too strong. The pain was too great. She succumbed to the tidal wave of frightening visions, the force of them dragging her under into the realm of the unconscious.

* * *

Frieza removed the Oculus from his neck, hissing in pleasure. "Fantastic!" he crowed, reveling in the lingering aftershocks of Bulma's abject terror. However, the strength of her will was something for which he had not accounted. No wonder Vegeta showed an interest in her, he thought with a crinkle of his nose in distaste.

"It is of no consequence now," Frieza said dismissively. There was nothing he excelled in more than crushing a person's will. Besides, the puny female was no match for his evil mind and the power of the Oculus. Oh yes, she would soon be under his complete control.

Reflecting on the encounter, he was pleased to note that this woman was some sort of scientist, or at least had access to a laboratory. What's more, from what he had seen before invading her mind, she even possessed a spacecraft.

"How marvelous!" He grinned, fingering the Oculus. This was getting easier and easier! Now he just needed to order that Lazzar to send his battleship's coordinates to Bulma's spacecraft, and she would fly her own self straight into his stronghold. She would be in his custody in no time at the rate things were progressing. And following her—Vegeta.

Frieza's menacing eyes flashed with excitement. He felt only a few more trips into Bulma's mind would subdue her quite nicely. None need be as strong as the first icebreaker, though. He did want her in some semblance of sanity, at least until she lured that Sayian into his waiting grasp. Then—well, he hardly gave a damn about the woman's mental state after he was through with her. Perhaps he would give her to the men on the ship. She was pretty enough, and there _was_ a rather depressing lack of females after all.

His lips curled into a twist of a smile. The more he thought about it, the more he liked that idea: Vegeta's woman—a whore. It would be a brazen humiliation, an incontrovertible insult to his precious pride and honour. Frieza sniggered, how pleasantly nasty the business of revenge could be!

* * *

Dr. Briefs sloshed through the pools of water and sheets of rain on the short trek from the house to Bulma's personal lab in the backyard. Even with his trusty Capsule Corp. industrial strength rain slicker held securely over his head, the scientist was drenched in a matter of seconds. Gratefully reaching the safety of the lab awning, Dr. Briefs shook off the water droplets from his coat as a clap of thunder resounded overhead. "Great heavens!" he exclaimed, glancing at the billowing dark storm clouds. "Enough with all that infernal ruckus!"

Stepping into the more pleasant environment of Bulma's lab, Dr. Briefs left off with his mutterings over the Apocalypse occurring outside and remembered why he was here in the first place. It was imperative that Bulma sign off on the plans for Capsule Corporation's latest scientific marvel—a teleportation device for inanimate objects. Without her signature, they could not begin the production process next week. Dr. Briefs beamed with fatherly pride. It was a profound design, sure to revolutionize the world, and it was all his girl's idea.

Hanging up his dripping coat by the door, he was surprised he had not yet been blasted by Bulma's usual flare for music upon entering. He frowned. Actually, the whole lab was quieter than it normally ever was. Taking a few steps farther in, he called out. "Bulma are you in here, dear?"

He knit his bushy white brows in confusion at the lack of response. He could have sworn he heard her go out here earlier this morning. He let his eyes wander across the spacious room—the lights were on, papers lay scattered on her desk, the computer humming quietly—she was definitely in here somewhere.

The space pod, of course! Being a new arrival as well as Bulma's pride and joy at the moment, she was no doubt tinkering around inside the magnificent machine. Dr. Briefs chuckled quietly; the girl was just like him, with an insatiable thirst for knowledge and the drive to always find a better way to do something. He strode over to the craft. Suddenly he stopped as he felt something crunch and grind into the floor beneath his shoe. Then he looked down—"Good Lord!" he gasped in shock. "Bulma!"

There, curled up on the floor next to the space pod amidst spilled coffee and ceramic shards of her mug, lay his daughter, motionless. He rushed to her side on his knees, the adrenaline pouring into his system making his wrinkled hand shake as he checked for a pulse. He sagged with relief when he found one. Bending over her prone body, he smoothed stray pieces of hair out of her face.

"Bulma, honey, can you hear me?" he asked, sharp tendrils of fear zinging along every nerve in his body. She trembled and let out a small groan. Dr. Briefs realized how terrible she looked. Her ashen, tear-streaked face was contorted in discomfort and shining in a cold sweat. Enfolding her hand in his own, he almost recoiled at how clammy it was.

Dr. Briefs had enough. He didn't know what was wrong or what had happened, but he was not going to leave his daughter on this cold, hard floor a moment longer. Scooping up her shivering body the best he could, he hurried out of the lab, heading for the medical wing. Bulma shifted and tensed in his arms as peals of lightning lit up the sky.

"_Sh, sh, sh_," he whispered soothingly. "It'll be alright, baby." Dr. Briefs quickened his pace, praying now more than ever that he was right.

* * *

Vegeta stood atop a giant pillar of rock in the badlands, glaring out into the monotonous landscape. A strong gale of ice-tipped wind gusted about him, swaying his ebony flame of hair to one side. He hardly noticed the maelstrom surrounding him. Vegeta scowled. Blowing up mountains of ancient stone for hours on end was no way to train. It was the price he paid, however, for the solitude the place afforded.

Solitude. As of late, it was something he had been decidedly lacking in. He had let himself grow accustomed to Bulma's presence and to a drastically lesser extent, her family. Which was precisely why he was now _here_, in the middle of nowhere, pounding big bad rocks to helpless smithereens.

If only he'd accepted the woman's offer of a place to live and train and then stayed the hell away from her. To her credit, she did have the persistence of a mythical being. Once she started in on him, there had been no stopping her. He sneered; a pathetically weak excuse and he knew it.

Without the threat of constant danger, without the humiliation of his servitude to Frieza, without the ever present demands of being a ruthless soldier, Vegeta felt the tiny seeds of desires he thought he had stamped out long ago begin to take root. And this is what he did with those desires. He curled his lip in disgust, thinking of his earlier behaviour. Bulma's pleading gaze, her anger, her tears flashed through his mind. He took one of the only people to ever give a damn about him and crushed her. Vegeta summoned a bright blue flame of energy and sent it careening into a nearby cliff. The ground beneath him trembled as the monolith crumbled to the earth below.

No, he amended grimly, watching the pile of rubble shift unsteadily; he hadn't crushed her. Not even close. She was angry, an understatement to be sure, but she did not believe him. She saw through his charade like it was made of glass. When the hell did he become so readable? All those years he prided himself on his ability to hold it in, to keep a blank face, bide his time, and get the job done. Yet, in a matter of months, the woman can read him like a children's book—See Vegeta run. Run, Vegeta run.

"Damn it!" he yelled in frustration to the uncaring sky. Since when had he become such a sniveling, indecisive, emotional...human? Where was the man who killed instantly without hesitation, who tuned out the rest of the world, his renegade thoughts—a conscience conceivably, though that was as foreign a word to Vegeta as the blasted 'love' these humans seemed so obsessed with—and focussed on the task set before him? Where was the warrior who cared for no one save his own neck, his own survival and well-being? Where did that man go, and how was he to get him back? More importantly, did Vegeta really want him back? Of course! Of course he did, and damn it, he would!

He would start by staying away from her. He was meant to be alone. Being near the woman was a danger to his control and to her. He would only cause her more suffering with his presence. It seemed to be the only thing it brought.

Vegeta straightened with a dull glower of loathing and cursed under his breath. He was not a head doctor, and this useless self-examination was getting him nowhere. He blasted off from the mountain top, speeding back towards Capsule Corp. He would have Briefs prepare the ship, then he would leave this godforsaken planet and get some real training done. He would be back only to destroy the androids and have his revenge on Kakarot. The thought elicited a feral grin.

Encased in his blazing aura of energy, Vegeta remained dry and unscathed as he flew through this behemoth of a storm system. He was almost halfway back to Capsule Corp. when a familiar ki caught his attention. It was the woman's, and it was fluctuating wildly. Vegeta's brows furrowed in a tight bunch of bewilderment and dread. Something was…not right about her ki. It felt muffled…distorted by another presence.

"What the hell!?" She was in danger. He could feel the sharp stabs of her fear and panic laced in her ki. This presence, whatever it was…it was evil. In his mind, Vegeta could almost see it weaving through Bulma's energy, leaving a thick, bitter trail of malicious venom in its wake.

He tried to ignore the cold ball of unease gathering in his stomach. That presence was inexplicably familiar. What, or whom, could it possibly be? Where had he sensed it before? His eyes snapped fiercely. It was right there, yet he could not place it. He needed to get to her before—

Bulma's distorted ki shot up again suddenly before plummeting. His eyes went wide. He concentrated fully on her energy; it was still there. Only then did he suck in a breath, realizing he had momentarily forgotten to breathe. Vegeta let out an enraged roar and poured on the speed.

Finally, the city emerged before him. He scanned the area for any unusual ki signatures, ready to battle whatever half-wit who was daft enough to harm the woman. He found nothing. Vegeta growled low in his throat. He would find whatever it was, and he would not spare an inch of his wrath.

He touched down on the flooded lawns of Capsule Corp. Good, he thought, her father is with her. He jogged to the medical wing, setting his face in his trained, carefully blank expression. It was time for answers.

* * *

Dr. Briefs lay Bulma onto one of the beds in the med wing. The shallow rise and fall of her chest her only movement. Her face was still abnormally pale and creased in pain. The doctor squeezed her delicate hand, both for his reassurance and hers, before going to the supply cabinets.

He pulled out a warm blanket and other items. Tucking the blanket securely around her form, he quickly drew a few vials of blood for testing and hooked her up to an EKG. Her pulse was rapid, much faster than usual. He monitored her other vitals. She seemed to be in minor shock, but no other outstanding cause for this behaviour presented itself.

Bulma shifted under the blankets and let out a moan of pain, instantly alerting Dr. Briefs. The EKG beeped rapidly, indicating her distress. He tried smoothing a hand across her cheek, but Bulma flinched away at his touch. No, he noted with concern, she practically _cowered _away from him. Dr. Briefs felt the fames of anger begin to lick at his mind. Why was his little girl so afraid? Was he wrong to assume the cause of her sudden malady was a _what_ instead of a _who_?

When Bulma's breaths started coming in short hitching gasps, Dr. Briefs hurriedly slid an oxygen mask over her mouth and prepared a mild sedative. Gradually, her face unclenched and her breathing deepened, the EKG now emitted slow, regular beeps. He stood next to her bed, gazing down at his only daughter.

"Bulma," he whispered. "I'll figure this out. You're going to be ok. I promise." He took hold of her hand again and held it for a long moment. Then, with a short sigh, he cleared his throat and shuffled towards the back of the wing to test her blood.

He was working fervently when he heard the med wing doors swing open. Dr. Briefs glanced up from his work in time to see Vegeta striding purposefully into the room. He was about to call out and make himself known when he saw Vegeta notice Bulma. He stopped short at the sight of her, his whole frame going rigid. Dr. Briefs watched in awe as a series of emotions flickered over the usually stoic face of the Sayian Prince. Shock and confusion, fear and anger—it would seem Vegeta _did_ give a damn about something besides training: his daughter.

Dr. Briefs did not have time to analyse this important bit of information now, though, so he stored it for later rumination. "Vegeta," he called lightly, "over here."

Vegeta turned swiftly, his expression instantly unreadable. Fixing the scientist with a deadly glare, Vegeta scowled over to him. The sight of the woman looking so weak and helpless, a breathing mask on her face and hooked up to a machine was a shock. Vegeta strived mightily to contain his rage long enough to question the old man. Folding his arms across his chest in front of the doctor, he demanded, "What happened?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. Vegeta scoffed, but the doctor cut him off a little irritably. "I _meant_, Vegeta, I don't know _yet_. I've been running her blood through some tests, but everything is coming out normal. She has no apparent signs of physical trauma either. But, I will find out what went on earlier," he said, an edge coming to his voice. "You can rest assured of that."

Vegeta cut his eyes back to the woman. He opened his mouth slightly then snapped it shut with a frown. "How is she?" he asked quickly.

Dr. Briefs hid his surprise that he would ask so direct a question about Bulma. He took off his spectacles and gave his eyes a rub. Perching them back on his nose, he looked at the Sayian with a pained expression. "Bulma is…well, she isn't fine, but she'll live. I found her in her lab, lying on the floor unconscious," he explained. "She was in pain. A great deal of pain, actually." His eyes narrowed at the memory. It was something he never wanted to see again.

Vegeta listened to the man's recollection closely, yet it offered no clues. He doubted the doctor knew about her distorted ki. If they were going to figure this out, he needed to tell him.

"I felt her ki earlier. It was not normal. It was like another entity was trying to take over her energy—dominate it. And it was succeeding," he growled.

"Great heavens..." Dr. Briefs breathed as he absorbed what Vegeta just told him. "But _why_? Why Bulma? It makes no sense..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

Vegeta thought of the eerily familiar ki. He could still feel it lingering about the edges of his senses, cold and menacing. He balled his fists at his side as understanding waxed. Of course it makes sense! Vegeta grimaced. An enemy. Somehow—_somehow_, they figured out his only weakness. Or was he being paranoid? How could anyone possibly know about him and the woman? No, in his gut, he knew this was the only explanation.

Dr. Briefs looked up suddenly. "I must leave at once. There is someone I need to talk to, an old colleague of mine," he said quickly. "He would know how to pursue this mind issue. I'm afraid I am out of my depth in this," he admitted. "But," he hesitated, "I can't leave her alone in this condition. Maybe Goku can watch her while I'm gone..." He was thinking aloud now, forgetting Vegeta was standing right in front of him.

"Kakarot?!" He almost choked on the name. "That blundering buffoon? You must be joking. Old man," he sneered, contempt thick in his voice, "I am more than capable of looking after the woman. Besides, if there is an enemy out there with mental powers of this magnitude, then I want him dead. Whoever it was is likely to strike again, and this time, I'll be waiting." A bloodthirsty gleam shone from his dark eyes. "They won't have the chance to make the mistake of attacking the woman again. It's been ages since I've had a proper test of my new strength, and this thing has just signed himself up as my new punching bag!"

Dr. Briefs looked slightly taken aback by Vegeta's speech. "Of course," he said simply. "Of course you can look after her. I don't know what I was thinking. Well," he said, gathering Bulma's blood and what test results he had and encapsulating them. "I really must leave. I hate running out on you like this." Vegeta rolled his eyes. A serious look passed over the doctor's face. "Thank you, Vegeta. I know she'll be safe in your hands."

The look on Dr. Briefs' face said everything Vegeta feared. He thought Vegeta cared about her. He cursed himself for so blatantly revealing an interest in the woman—to her father, no less! To others he may appear the absentminded scientist, a genius but socially inept. Vegeta knew, however, that he was no fool and rarely anything escaped his keen eyes. Yet here he stood in front of the man, barely even on his guard.

Fool! he spat to himself. Instinctively, he readied a scathing diatribe against Bulma and her father, but resisted. Such a vehement denial would undoubtedly speak to the contrary. And like it or not, Vegeta respected the doctor. He was a brilliant scientist, and obviously he loved his child. So, his silence lasted only a few brief seconds as this inner turmoil took place.

"Do not mistake me, doctor," he said in a controlled voice, blocking the man's path. "The woman's life is nothing to me beyond fulfilling my honour and maintaining the source of my training."

Dr. Briefs glared at the arrogant prick for a moment before his gaze softened a tad. He felt fairly positive he was just reverting to some automatic defense—deny any emotions. It was understandable from what little he knew of Vegeta's background. That is, if his powers of observation were not failing him now.

He looked Vegeta in the eye and placed a hand on his shoulder. Vegeta stiffened in reply but held his gaze unblinking. "As long as she lives, Vegeta." The Sayian harrumphed. Dr. Briefs stepped aside and headed for the door. Maybe he was being a first-class moron for entrusting his daughter's welfare to Vegeta, but he didn't think so. He honestly believed Bulma would be safe with him.

Vegeta watched the man go, relieved when he finally left. He was too observant for his own good. He rolled his shoulders and walked over to Bulma's bed. She was breathing deeper now, but her hand lightly clenched the blanket. Her whole body seemed tense. Vegeta laid his hand on her own, encompassing her small fist. To his surprise, Bulma's grasp on the blanket loosened, and the slight tension left from her body. He removed his hand and took a step back, staring at the woman. This was his doing, he reminded himself.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall in front of Bulma, a troubled expression marking his features. She was suffering because of him. It was his duty now to ensure her safety. He vowed silently to himself that he would not allow any more harm to come to the woman on his behalf.

So, he stood against the wall, silent and unmovable, simply watching her breathe in and out, in and out.

* * *

Bulma was warm. She had been vaguely aware of being moved and voices, but the thoughtlessness of the blackness beckoned her, and she gratefully accepted. Anything to get rid of those visions—that horribly cold, terribly powerful force that raided her mind and threatened to rob her of her being. She felt she could drift forever in this effortless cocoon of safety she had spun for herself. It was not to be.

The familiar lightning rod of pain broke through her cocoon. Bulma let out a small cry of pain. Thankfully, it was nowhere near the intensity of last time. It ricocheted throughout her mind before receding to a dull, throbbing ache. Tears she did not know she shed coursed down her cheeks as the dreaded visions began anew.

She felt perverted pleasure in the scenes of methodical xenocides, carnage, death, slavery... 'No!' she cried out angrily to the force. 'It's not true! I'm not like you!' She gasped through the increase of pain at her rebellion. 'I'm not a _monster_!' Her strangled whisper of defiance. Her body thrashed against the blanket covering her, her oxygen mask slipping up over her head. The scenes increased in their repulsiveness. They just wouldn't stop. 'Stop,' she pleaded. 'Please, stop…'

"Woman." A familiar, deep voice cut through the fog of the visions as strong hands gripped her. Bulma struggled to free herself from the white hot pain, to grab this lifeline and pull herself up out of this raging tempest. Why was it _so_ hard?

"Woman!" The voice came again, louder. The hands shook her gently. Bulma's eyes fluttered, the evil presence hung on a little less tightly. She was almost there. "Woman, wake up." Her eyes slid open, tears clinging to her lashes.

"Vegeta," she whispered thickly in surprise. He still held her by her shoulders. His dark, intense eyes burned into her own with a mixture of alarm and worry. "Oh, Vegeta…" Her body was wracked with sobs. Vegeta sat down on the bed next to Bulma and wrapped his arms around the distraught woman tentatively. When she did not pull away from him, he tightened his hold on her shaking body and let her cry into his chest.

"I-it was so ho-horrible," she choked through her tears. "I-I couldn't ma-ake it st-op..." Vegeta held her closer. He was seething inside. She was attacked again, and he hadn't even known until she began thrashing around in the bed. He rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. She was still stammering brokenly, but it was nearly incomprehensible.

He grasped her shoulders and tilted her chin up with a finger. "Quiet," he commanded gently. She looked at him through puffy, watery eyes, her breath coming in short hitches. "Don't—" she whispered, "don't leave me, Vegeta."

"I am going nowhere, woman," he assured her. "I give you my word: I will not let any more harm come to you," he said fiercely, protectively. Bulma wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into him. His arms enclosed around her once more. Bulma did not even think about their argument that morning. All she cared about now was the strong, secure embrace he offered. She needed to feel safe, and there was no place she felt safer than in Vegeta's arms.

Vegeta held Bulma until she drained herself of all her tears and fell into a fitful slumber. He held her until that fitful slumber gave way to real sleep. Even then, he held her. It was sometime in the middle of the night, and he was beginning to feel the fuzz of tiredness cloud his thoughts. Vegeta thought of his failure to keep an hours' old vow because he failed to realize the obvious—if the enemy can use mind techniques, then he is unbound by distance. He need not be present to inflict his damage. And he called himself the Prince of all Sayians. More like the Prince of all Idiots.

He thought of the beautiful, fragile creature asleep in his arms. Even after the deplorable words he spoke to her, she wanted him to stay with her. She turned to him for comfort. He allowed himself to think of the night they shared. Surely it was the first and last time that would ever happen. His thoughts became hazy, and his eyes drifted shut. Vegeta still held her.

* * *

The first sensation Bulma felt upon waking was not Vegeta's arm lying across her stomach nor was it his breath lightly stirring stray wisps of her hair. Instead, Bulma felt oddly disconnected from her body. Then, the sickening crush of the presence permeated every corner and crevice of her mind, smothering her will, rendering her immobile.

Bulma's eyes opened, but they did not dilate and widen in the panic she felt, nor could she draw breath and force it past her lips to call for help. There was no pain, just the sheer terror of not being in control of her own body. Bulma watched as her hand raised itself, flexing and wiggling the fingers. Upon its own volition, her body slowly, carefully slid out from under Vegeta's arm, freezing and glancing over at him when he stirred slightly. He frowned, but did not wake.

Bulma could feel boiling anger that was not her own briefly engulf her awareness. It quickly faded and her body began to move again, easing itself out of the bed. Whatever this presence was, Bulma was sure it was responsible for this. Bulma tried with all her might to resist, to regain control. But it was like a vast expanse of quicksand lay between her and her body. The more she struggled to cross it, the more completely she became stuck. Her body was now quietly padding out of the med wing.

'What are you? Why are you doing this to me?!' she yelled, though, of course, no sound passed her lips. Shockingly, a voice answered.

'But, dear, you already know what I am.' A sardonic hiss filled her ears. 'A monster. Isn't that what you called me?' It patronized her with mock innocence. Obviously finding this the height of hilarity, it laughed—the same laugh Bulma heard when this whole nightmare started. 'Oh, have I made you upset? Remind me to apologize when I see you,' it bit back, coldly sarcastic.

_When I see you_. The words rang in her ears. He was bringing her to him. But who was _him_? The voice…it sounded familiar…. Realization came like a punch to the gut. She heard it on Namek. But that meant— 'Frieza,' she whispered disbelievingly.

She felt his tiny spark of shock. He obviously did not know she knew his name, nevermind his voice. She may have heard it from a distance, but the sound of the monster determined to kill your best friend, obliterate the planet you are on, wish for immortality, and rule the universe with a crazed iron fist was not a sound one soon forgot.

Her body was busy making its way down the hall towards the door leading out to the backyard. It conveniently stopped to bend down and put on a pair of boots that stood next to the door. The torrential rains had faded to a fine drizzle, but the ground remained waterlogged.

'Well, it seems I do not need to introduce myself, _Bulma_.' It was her turn to be shocked. How did he know her name?

'But you're dead!' She couldn't help but exclaim.

'Oh really? I've never felt better, actually.'

Her mind raced—how is he alive? He should have died when the planet exploded. None of this makes sense! 'Why are you doing this to me?' She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. He may control her body, but she would not let him think he held her mind as well.

'Come now, where's your sense of adventure? You'll find out soon enough.' His conversational tone was infuriating. As if he were her friend and not the villainous snake holding her hostage.

'You're not going to get away with this, you bastard. Vegeta will come after me.' At least, she hoped he would. Bulma felt something akin to excitement flowing from the mysterious link between them.

'My, but you _do_ catch on quickly,' he said with a chuckle. Dread filled her. He didn't want her. He was just using her to get to Vegeta. No! She would not be responsible for Vegeta falling under the shadow of this beast again. If only she could find a way to overthrow his influence on her actions. She tried pushing through the barrier between her thoughts and her actions.

'I refuse to be a pawn in your sick little game!' she said. Needle-like pain raced along her every nerve, making her cry out. What felt like an impenetrable wall of steel erected in her mind, barring any attempt to regain her free will.

'Goodness, what a _valiant_ effort. Such a wonderful sentiment,' he jeered. 'No really, I applaud your courageous bravery. _Bravo_.' He said. 'However, it pains me a good deal to inform you that,' all the sarcastic humour left his voice, 'you already are.'

His voice and feelings receded to the other side of the wall, leaving Bulma alone in her conscience—a prisoner of her own mind.

She was in her lab now, standing in front of the space pod. Bulma watched her hand flip the control to the roof, opening the hatch in the ceiling. The dark, overcast night sky came into view, drizzle gracefully misting into the lab, bespeckling the space pod. Fear pressed in on her. Where was he taking her? It couldn't be good if she needed a spacecraft to get there.

As her body climbed up the ramp into the machine and walked over to the controls, a thought gave her marginal comfort. In the main lab, there was another space pod. Her father would be able to track Bulma's ship and send someone to rescue her. With a soft _whoosh_, the ship whirred to life. The lights of the console shined happily before her. A set of coordinates waited blinking on the computer. Her hands typed in the confirmation code, and the pod began its ignition sequence. She strapped herself into the pilot's chair. _Why did I have to design this thing to be nearly soundless in performance_? She berated herself uselessly. Bulma doubted the take off would be loud enough to wake anyone, not even Vegeta.

_Vegeta_. Would he come for her? Would he rescue her? Would he _care_? The doubts were frightening. She prayed he would. Then again, he would be flying headlong into Frieza's trap. Damn it! She cursed vehemently with every nasty word she knew. She hoped Frieza heard.

Maybe he only comforted her earlier out of pity. But Vegeta had given her his word no harm would befall her, that he would protect her. And the one thing that never changed about Vegeta was he did not break his word. Now that word was going to put the man she loved directly in the path of the monster who ruined his life, destroyed his planet, and wiped out his people.

_Loved?_ Yes, she supposed if she were willing to die rather than let that bastard control Vegeta's life again, then she did love him.

Her body was pressed firmly against the chair as the space pod rose forcefully up through the roof and high into the atmosphere. The ship began to tremble and vibrate when it broke through into the blackness of space. Finally, she felt the g-forces give way to zero gravity. Bulma's fingers moved once again of their own volition over the keys, selecting the coordinates. Once the course was set, she ignited the powerful thrusters and coasted along at nearly half the speed of light.

Restoring gravity to the inside of the ship, her body unstrapped itself from the chair and went to the small sleeping compartment. She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. Bulma tried to open them again. She tried to do anything with her boy and failed. She was trapped behind this damn wall.

So she laid there on the thin mattress, hurtling through space going God-knows-where; she had no choice. Unfortunately for Frieza, Bulma still possessed her greatest asset. She could think. She did not know how he was able to do any of this—getting inside her head, taking control of her will—but she would find a way to free herself.

She was the sole property of Bulma Briefs. She was no one's slave, and he picked the wrong genius to mess with.

* * *

I hope everyone enjoyed it. I honestly don't know when the next chapter will come out. Don't get me wrong, I plan to continue this 'til the hopefully-not-so-bitter end. Life just has a way of putting you on its own schedule. : )

"Break Me Down"  
Red

_A long day alone_  
_Emptiness is so real  
Never having peace of mind  
Running from what I can't see  
And there is nowhere left to hide  
Turn and face these empty lies  
All alone, heart unturned  
Trying to find_

_Break me down  
Replace this fear inside  
Take this nothingness from me  
I want to fight  
I want to shine  
I want to rise  
Break me down_

_I try to find myself  
I find the stranger trapped inside  
And I'll take one more step away  
From the face I used to recognize  
Familiar shadows closing in  
A suffocating fear descends  
It comes alive, uncovered eyes  
Trying to find_

_Break me down..._

If you read, then please leave a review, a rant, a red, juicy...banana? They make me all warm and fuzzy inside. Reviews, not bananas.

-ASA : )


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